A New Hope Redux
by Ocean of Dreams
Summary: Rewrite of A New Hope. Illera, a healer in the King's castle, is sent to heal Murtagh after the torturing session that follows the Battle of the Burning Plains. Stretches towards the end of the series.
1. Chapter 1

Murtagh collapsed. The cold, rough granite of the dungeons was almost soothing against the wounds burning on his body. He tried to raise himself, but his hands slipped on the slick stone.

_Pain._

He could hear his dragon's helpless roars—he had withdrawn from their contact so Thorn did not have to bear the same pain—and shut his eyes.

"Aren't you enjoying this Murtagh? For if you were not, why would you fail me? Where is Eragon Shadeslayer!" Galbatorix ended in a roar.

_Thorn…_

"Answer me!" Galbatorix whispered a few words, and instantly, Murtagh felt several ribs crack.

"I…don't know," Murtagh was dizzy with the pain, he couldn't think, couldn't feel. He wanted to…

"You will go again. You will not fail. Do you understand me?" the King's voice was soft; lethal in the way a panther stalks its prey.

Murtagh didn't answer; he couldn't. His jaw—or any muscle—had ceased to obey him. Some of them were torn; some ligaments pushed to strange areas, and he could feel life just barely pulsing inside him.

And it was beginning to leave him…

The world flickered, until a soft wash of black took him.

Galbatorix sneered contemptuously. "If only your great father could see you now," he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

…

"Illera!" the head healer, a thin woman named Meira barked.

Illera jerked her head around from where she was scrubbing bedpans in the infirmary. "Yes, Meira?" she held no particular love for this woman; she reminded her too much like a bird of prey. She was too eager to leave her healers behind, to send them into the dragon's den in the centre of the castle.

"You're needed in the dungeons. Deal what you find there," Meira said. "The King orders it."

"Magically or…?" Illera asked. "You know I've not the strength for healing entirely whomever the King has decided to amuse himself with."

Meira shot her a sharp look. "Shh!" she hissed. "You need to be more careful."

Illera straightened, but did not apologize.

"Go, eat then, first. The cooks will have something for you."

Illera shook her head. "There will be time enough for that later. I will be attending to the poor man then," she began to make her way out of the infirmary. The shaking of the castle and distant roaring of who-knew-what had finally ceased after several hours.

A left, to nearly the other end of the castle, and then, down a dank set of steps to finally reach the dungeons. As she strode, Illera was forced to periodically pull her starched, white uniform upwards. The stamped uniforms had been made for men, and the smallest size that had been without use could have fit a burly twenty-year old; of which she was neither. Even a belt did not help. She had reached her eighteenth birthday several months ago and had been driven to seek a job anywhere she could. In Uru'baen, there were worse lines of work than a healer; even if magic was much preyed upon.

Illera descended the cold stone steps, shivering at the cold, moist air. She nodded to the guard stationed in the stairwell before entering. There were cells, many cells…And then she noticed something unusual: there was no guard.

Galbatorix always posted a guard.

Why was it that today, there was no guard? Unless…

_He was assured whomever he dealt with couldn't be a threat._

With more trepidation now, she quested forth.

The stench hit her before she reached the last—and largest cell. It was cloying, sticky; blood. The last time she had smelled the hot scent was when she had pushed her way through a slaughterhouse neighborhood…

She forced herself to look into the cell and suppressed a gasp of revulsion.

Gashes slit the young man's back, so deep that she wondered how he remained in one piece. Some of them had cut straight through a thick, white, ropey scar that crossed his back. Part of his left shoulder had been crushed; there were cuts as if made from a sword. Tiny burns also peppered his tan skin; she recognized them as having been made from Seithr oil. The last man she had treated for that hadn't survived.

How could the man still be alive? And yet, he was. She felt his life beat in the air, yet it was slow, so slow that she wondered if he would slip into the void at any moment.

Illera rolled up her sleeves and knelt—and then she slid suddenly.

"What the—" her voice was cut off when she realized what exactly she had slipped in.

His blood.

The cuts still gushed sluggishly, and so she healed the more shallow ones with whispered words of "Waise heill!" She knew that the muscles severed in many of the cuts needed to be reattached; yet she lacked knowledge of the words necessary for such a spell, so she simply healed the skin above it. And also, she lacked the strength to heal so many wounds.

Illera left briefly to request several wash cloths and a basin of warm water, both of which arrived shortly.

Softly, she used a cloth to scrape off the majority of the Seithr oil, using a separate one to gently cleanse the wounds on his back before closing them with the murmured words.

Illera healed as much as she could, but she eventually could do no more and sat down hard, leaning against the wall several meters away, breathing hard. If she wasn't careful, she could faint from the over exertion.

She recovered slightly before turning him over, using the cloth to lightly rub away dried blood from his features, and rinse his own blood out of his matted hair.

It was then that she realized who he was.

Illera recoiled, jumping backwards. There was no doubt—the man who lay in front of her was the Red Rider.

She hit the wall, and pushed herself upright against the unforgiving surface, shaking her head wearily. He had several cracked ribs in addition to more mutilated muscle and she could only mend three out of the five; her strength had gone.

Illera called for clean water and for food—she needed fuel if she was going to continue. When it arrived, she devoured the bowl of stew and bread eagerly, feeling her strength return with each bite.

And afterwards she healed all that she could on his body, and pressed all the energy she could spare into him.

With those wounds, she needed him to wake and heal himself before…Illera couldn't stand seeing anyone or anything die, especially not while she had worked upon them. She frowned, reaching out with her mind to force him to wake. Yet, when she did, a foreign, completely alien presence slammed into her consciousness, driving into her mind. Illera flinched, recoiling and attempted to shield herself, but her wards were swept away like dust in a storm. And just as suddenly as it had attacked her, it was gone.

She was still recovering from the pain it had caused her when the Rider let out a chuckle. She couldn't move, but he whispered a few words and the wounds were healed instantly, and his shoulder restored.

Illera was shocked at the ease he had shown to use heal his grievous wounds; that he could rise from a deep sleep to full strength.

"You attempted to heal me," he said, rising.

She nodded, shutting her eyes as sleep tempted her. Even speaking was too much effort now.

Murtagh knelt beside her, touching her arm lightly and returning much of the energy she'd given him to her.

It soothed her pounding head and she released a breath, before realizing.

Galbatorix must have been in such a rage because the army had lost the Battle far away. And the Red Rider, he had been ordered to capture the other Rider. Clearly, he had failed, and was being punished.

She offered a wan smile. "Thank you."

He shrugged. "Thank _you_."

Illera stood, putting out a hand to steady herself on the wall. "You should go to the kitchens and eat."

He raised an eyebrow, and she elaborated.

"I'm a healer," she defended herself. "I need to see my patients recover."

He nodded at her uniform, now soiled and soaked through in patches of his blood. "You had better go change. You don't…you needn't see me to the kitchens."

Illera shrugged a shoulder. "I would see you eat something before I go."

Something—the same, alien presence brushed her mind again and she shied away, flinching.

The Rider laughed; yet it was almost humorless. "I can see you've met Thorn."

"Thorn?" she asked, wincing when the presence quested towards her again.

A corner of his mouth turned up. "He is a dragon."

Her lips opened a fraction of an inch before she shut them, pushing her long, black hair out of her face. "Oh."

Murtagh was silent. "He wants to know why you came."

"Orders," she said, dumping out the basin of water and watching it mix with scarlet blood as it dripped down a drain. "Meira asked me to come down here and attend to whatever I found."

Murtagh watched her place the dishes into the basin, asking the guard to call a servant to clear it later.

"Now," she said, and he saw that her eyes were as dark as mud seen in a starless night. "You need fuel. Go, eat."

He seemed to be amused, but she could not bring herself to care. His care had taken more out of her than she had expected, and she only wanted to rest for ages.

"You as well," he said unexpectedly. "You will need it too."

"I—" she began, but he cut her off.

"Tis simply lunch," he said, taking a hold of her arm. "_Tauthr."_

She couldn't refuse his strength, nor the way he imbued the word for _follow_ with power.

And so it was, as she followed him, her destiny began to awaken.

Illera departed the kitchens almost a half-hour later, amazed at how with just a simple command, the kitchen staff had rushed for the Rider for anything he asked. Mead, ale, bread, stew or a pie; anything he wished for, it was given as quickly as they could cook.

He had asked her a few questions; her name, wondering how much she knew in the Ancient Language, how long she had worked in the castle. She could not help but be curt and swift in her responses; her own past was littered with too much sorrow and much too many images she had no wish to revisit.

Finally, she drew a hot bath, determined to scrub off all of the dried blood from her skin. All of _his_ dried blood. Illera felt as if she were coated in his essence, a primal part of him…

_It wouldn't do,_ she decided. He was so powerful, so different, stoic, serious—and his dragon! So foreign and alien to her…everything about him frightened and called to her at the same time.

It disconcerted her to find, when she slid into the bathtub, flakes of maroon scrape off her skin and melt into the water. Red, red; a pale, watery rose. So much unlike the Rider's dragon.

He released the slight magic sustaining his scry, unusual surprise welling. He was rarely even surprised now, after so long.

He had watched the girl, with the eyes like pitch struggle and nearly cause herself to faint while healing his insolent servant. He'd watched the byplay between them, and watched as they made their ways to the kitchen. He had more than watched; he had listened.

_Illera._

The name resonated like the city his Uru'baen had been named before the kingdom rose. She could be trained, into a worthy magician, into part of the Black Hand.

An idea crept into his mind…

Shells of iridescent green, and every other color of the rainbow, flashes of gold and reds and yellows and blues across the skies.

His dream could reawaken.

_Murtagh, son of Morzan._ _Illera, and eventually, the Blue Rider Eragon Shadeslayer._

_All under His Majesty Galbatorix Kingslayer, Ruler of the Empire._

Galbatorix had, of course, seen everything.

…

**intiating rewrite. I'm fully aware that I can't possibly hope to be finished by the time the final book comes out but the first version was so painful to even look at, I MUST re-write it.**


	2. Chapter 2

Illera sank into a deep trance, dreamless and so complete that she did not wake even when Meira came to rap on her door.

"Illera!" Meira opened the door hard and shook her awake. "Illera! Quickly. Put on your clothes; here is a new one, what _have_ you been doing? That uniform is filthy! It's ruined!"

Illera roused, and blearily asked, "Whatever are you here for?"

"The King himself has summoned you to the treasury. He is to be there in only ten minutes. Hurry!"

Meira dropped the new uniform on her bed in the tiny room and she departed. Illera scrambled into the clothes, binding it about her waist with her worn leather belt. The crisp uniform was the same as yesterday's, with a golden crown sewn onto the left breast.

She slipped on the standard pair of healer's canvas slippers before she departed. As she ran, she combed her fingers through her long hair, wishing for the leather strip that usually bound her hair.

Illera kept running, running through all the reasons why Galbatorix could possibly want to see her. Had she done anything wrong? _Meira ordered me to go heal the Rider. I can't have done anything wrong. I haven't…_

A right, then a left; another right down a long, brightly lit passageway. And then past black-clad guards, who nodded at her as she skidded to a stop, smoothing down her clothes and taking a deep breath.

The doors were made of ebony that shone as she pushed it open. . She let go of the huge door, feeling it shut with a _boom_ as she looked at the awe-inspiring gold and silver. There were no guards within; evidently, Galbatorix didn't trust his mortal servants with the treasure inside.

There was, however, someone else.

Murtagh stood off towards the right of the chamber, almost hidden between suits of armor.

She noticed him when she made a half turn towards him, and she paused.

"You have recovered, then?" Illera asked, wincing at her husky voice and clearing her throat.

Something flickered in his eyes. "Yes, thank you."

"Why have I…" she waved a hand offhandedly. "I am out of place here."

Murtagh looked away from her as trumpets sounded just outside the door, announcing the King's arrival.

"He wishes to test you." His voice was flat.

She looked absolutely bewildered. "What for?"

Murtagh nodded at the centre of the room.

A pedestal, on top of which sat a golden chest, and inside the chest laid a fabulously vivid emerald stone.

"What is it?" she asked, walking towards the chest.

"Stop," he commanded, and she halted, turning to give him a questioning look. "What?"

Then the doors were thrown open and Galbatorix himself walked into the room. A long train of resplendent Lords and Ladies followed, clad in bright reds and greens and blues. Suddenly, she felt very self conscious in the Healer's uniform that was too large for her and surreptitiously hoisted it higher.

The King was tall for a human, with long black hair that reached his chin. His black eyes darted across the room, and the very presence of him seemed to charge the air with energy.

Illera instantly noticed how Murtagh almost seemed to turn away from the King. However, it wasn't because he was tentative; it seemed more because of anger or hatred or distate.

"What is your name?" Galbatorix asked, voice smooth and deep that seemed to slither over her ears and settle oddly in her brain.

"Illera, Your Majesty," she had knelt some distance away.

"If you would please," he motioned for her to rise and go touch the stone.

"What is it?" Illera asked, again making her way closer to the chest.

"A chance for glory," Galbatorix said softly. "A chance to serve the greatest leader of all time and to earn power as no one has before."

She reached the egg, her fingers touching the smooth, hard shell of the stone. It was cool, and her fingers seemed to slide across the surface.

Nothing had happened.

Galbatorix's face seemed to darken, and then lightened once again. He summoned another guard, who placed something else in the chest.

Illera glanced back again. The color of this stone was deep purple, shining as no thing could shine as this exact shade. This color fascinated her.

_Purple, shining purple. The color of royalty; for who else could afford a shade such as this? Yet what dyed garment could achieve the color of this stone?_

Again her palm smoothed against the stone, and she drew back. All of Galbatorix's promises, about this stone—

Nothing happened.

She turned to look at the King, whose eyes were trained on the rock. _But why? Nothing has happened. I—_

A crack split the air.

She whipped around, noticing the look of resignation on Murtagh's face as she witnessed something poke out of the egg. For it had to be an egg.

Galbatorix looked immensely satisfied. "Go to it," he directed Illera. "It's female."

_What is? I've never—_

The creature shook off the rest of the shell and she recoiled in shock.

A dragon.

Galbatorix had a very smug expression on his face. "Go, with Murtagh; tend to your dragon. You will begin training with Murtagh tomorrow."

And he swept from the room.

…

They sat in the kitchens, not speaking to each other. Illera's right palm glowed with the gedwëy ignasia, which she kept rubbing as she fed her dragon hatchling with strips of raw meat.

The dragon's stomach bulged and she finally curled up on the table beside her, and Illera felt a feeling of sleepiness emote from her.

Murtagh had explained to her the presence of the bond of a Dragon Rider and their Dragon, and had gone on to explain many other things about Dragons.

One thing she was greatly interested in was the names of Dragons. Many of them were male and Illera dismissed them, but many were interesting and seemed to evoke images of valor and courage.

Miremel and Lenora and others, but none seemed right for the color of her dragon. She had been cutting apart the names, and mixing different ones together, but again, none seemed right.

Murtagh watched her, with no expression on his face. His eyes were grey, piercing as they seemed to dissect her, and she learned to ignore him and watch her dragon.

"Tomorrow we begin training," he said abruptly. "So we had better go and outfit you with a sword. And, the forgers will need to forge armor and other materials for you. I know that the ladies of the court have already commissioned gowns and tunics for you."

She reacted swiftly. "Why have they done so?"

Murtagh glanced at her, almost amused. "To lever themselves into better favor with you. You are a Rider now, no matter how inexperienced."

She couldn't help but bristle at his curt words. _How is it my fault that I haven't that much knowledge, or power? Magic is difficult, and all I have wrought in it were words of healing. It's not—_

"It isn't your fault, but we will have to train you hard and quickly. Galbatorix would have us be ready for the next engagement with the Varden, whenever it would be," a ghost of a smile touched his lips. "We can begin by guarding your mind."

Illera was completely caught off guard when he rammed into her mind, flitting from thought to thought before deciding to memorize the details of her dragon's scales. Each shimmering scale ended off in a round edge, something that Murtagh had said would eventually become razor sharp.

_We will begin anew,_ she heard his voice inside her head, and she frowned.

"Fine," she said aloud as he withdrew, and returned to studying the rainbow selection of hues on her dragon. The wing membranes, stretched thin, became a lavender shade, the deep royal hyacinth colors that played along her limbs and back faded to a lighter lilac.

She was fascinated by it, the play of shades and the tiny muscles that would grow, she hoped, to maybe as large as the King's dragon; Shruikan. She'd seen the black dragon soar above the castle, confined to Uru'baen with the King, as he flew with Thorn.

The war between her wards and Murtagh's strength wore on, yet she felt remarkable calm as she continued to study the dragon. Small alabaster white claws and teeth were visible; the dragon was only around a foot long.

"That will do," Murtagh said out loud, and she let down her concentration warily. "You will improve as you learn. However, now—"

She interrupted him. "May I meet Thorn?"

Murtagh's eyebrow lifted, and came down again. "You have already met him," again, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

"In the flesh," she refused to react to his amusement.

"You will soon enough," he said, but she continued to meet his eyes with her own, dark ones.

"Or, we will go now," Murtagh relented, and she smiled softly.

He stood, and departed. Illera pushed in both the stools underneath the raised table where they were sitting, and gathered up her dragon in her arms. A small tendril of thought ballooned next to her mind, and she tentatively reached out to it.

It felt foreign, alien; just like when Thorn had jabbed into her mind. But it also felt different; calmer, softer, younger. Definitely younger.

Illera followed Murtagh out of the kitchens, taking many passageways until they reached a door.

It opened up into a courtyard, huge; perfect for serving massive feasts or other. Instead housing of food and guests though, it now contained a massive red dragon.

Murtagh went to him, and Illera knew he must be speaking to his dragon. It wasn't until several moments later when she asked, "Can I touch him?"

"Ask him," Murtagh seemed to contain his amusement well.

She pressed closer to Thorn, walking to beside the dragon's head. He was thick in the body, stocky, compact, but bigger than any other creature she'd ever seen.

Illera reached out a hand, and he growled. She whispered something so that Murtagh could not hear: "May I speak to you?"

Thorn lowered his head a few inches, which she guessed to be a nod, and she reached out to his mind.

_Can I touch you?_

_**Yes.**_

Illera raised her hand and tentatively touched Thorn's nose, and then his neck. The scarlet scales were as hard as diamond, and she quickly backed off.

Murtagh snorted. "Come on. I have to show you the training areas."

…

The day was long and difficult and she wondered how she could adapt to this. It was insane! How could she be a Rider? She knew the myths and the lore but hadn't even known what the eggs were. None of what Murtagh was talking about made sense—who was Brom, the Forsworn? Why had the Dragon Riders nearly become extinct in the first place?

She resolved to find out as soon as she could. But no, definitely not from Galbatorix. There was something about him, she didn't know, but she couldn't bring herself to trust him. For all he spoke of glory and honor—what had been the purpose; where had the glory and honor been in torturing his Red Rider?

Murtagh had helped her choose a sword from the armoury; she'd only had practice with using a dagger before hand. The sword felt too long, too big, but it had been the right sword for her. She'd been measured for armor after trying on many pieces of larger, more clunky armor. The problem for her was that there hadn't been many suits forged for women; not here in Uru'baen anyways.

Then she had struggled through many magical tests; raising a pebble to eye level had been relatively easy compared to others such as retrieving an arrow from a hundred yards away. As she exhibited more and more signs of fatigue, she could see Murtagh's look of disdain; even contempt. And she wanted to say—how was it her fault she'd not received an education in magic? She'd been a Healer! The only things she had learned were rudimentary words of healing, words to lessen pain…

It was already difficult to access her magic without getting put through her paces. She had to use extremely long and creative methods to incorporate the simple words she knew.

"Enough," Murtagh had said after she failed to cause a horse to come to her. "I have seen enough of your magic to report to Galbatorix. We shall end it today, and you, I advise you to read several of the texts I will have brought to your new quarters. Will you first go to the kitchens?"

"Yes," she'd said, blinking her eyes so as to keep awake.

"I will send a servant who will aid you in moving your belongings to your new rooms."

And now she was stretched out on her new bed, leafing through one of the books on magic she'd found in her room. It told of the limits on one's power; on how one could increase it.

There was a small yawning noise, and the snap of teeth, which blossomed into a feeling of hunger in her head.

Illera explored the feeling, which grew into a huge cavern of an alien mind. The feeling was stronger here, and she winced at the hunger gnawing at her dragon.

_Hungry?_ She asked the dragon. Still, she had not come up with a name.

The dragon seemed to agree with her sentiment, so she gathered her up in her arms and went to the kitchens to ask for more meat.

The dragon didn't seem to bother with being choosy as she set a variety of fowl, sheep and pork in front of her. She just snapped up all that she wanted, and yawned wildly, showing rows of sharp teeth.

Bemused, Illera took her back to her rooms, where she set the dragon down on her bed.

_What shall I call you?_

She simply looked back at Illera with deep, intelligent purple eyes.

_There's Miremel, Lorena, and…the others are for male dragons. I have made up some of my own; Maridor or Loesthen or Anamera._

_**No.**_

_You have learned how to speak already?_

_**Illera.**_

_What? We must have a name for you._

_**Murtagh.**_

_What of him? But come, we must have a name for you._

_**Thorn.**_

_Are these the names you know? They are spoken for; you cannot have them._

There was a feeling of smug amusement over the link, and Illera frowned.

_There was Iomungr, who was a male. We must find a name for you. Mayhap Elessor or Thaedin or…_ she was back to the beginning.

_Which did you like the best?_

_**Anamera.**_

_But it is not perfect?_

_**No.**_

_What about Akarina? Or Myre—What of Amyra?_

_**Amira.**_

_Amyra?_

_**Amira.**_She felt a distinct annoyance in her dragon's emotions, and she had to chuckle.

Being particular over spelling! For either way it was spelled, it was still pronounced Ah-my-ra.

_Amira it is._

…

The next morning, she was jostled awake irrationally early by a sensation of burning hunger.

_You aren't hungry again?_ was her first irritated response.

Amusement, and then the dragon pounced on her chest.

"Mmphf," Illera grunted. "You're heavy."

Amira peered into her Rider's eyes; her snout was to Illera's nose.

Illera let out a huff. "I'm exhausted."

Amira seemed to shrug. _**Hungry.**_

_Can't it wait?_

_**No.**_

Illera growled, and picked Amira up, setting her down on the bedspread while she dressed—still her Healer's uniform—and dark green leggings. _Let's go then._

When she padded into the kitchen with Amira, Murtagh was already there with a clean plate.

"Morning," Illera said, voice husky as she rummaged for meat.

Murtagh only nodded. "You're to begin learning swordplay today. Galbatorix wishes for me to teach you."

She nodded, letting Amira snap up a strip of chicken, resigning herself to a long, long day.

…

Illera collapsed onto her bed, ten hours later. Her head pounded, her muscles burned and her body bore the signs of bruises made by wooden swords. Actually, one wooden sword; Murtagh's. He had absolutely mauled her, barely holding back and her right hand was sore from the unfamiliar grip that he had explained to her. Swordplay was a skill Murtagh said Galbatorix would only magically improve once she had bested his best swordsman or could hold her own with Murtagh.

_His eyes were clear, hard, piercing as he shouted commands. "Back! Bend away from the blade, if you cannot block it! Again!"_

_Her exhaustion; this was the first time she had ever handled something similar to a sword. Daggers and hunting bows were fine yet swords, swords were things women usually did not carry; especially not women like her._

_She was clumsy and, at the end of the session, was furious with herself for her clumsy incompetence. It injured her pride, and so much more._

…

When she woke, it was due to a pounding noise nearby.

_Amira?_

_**Murtagh.**_

_What about him?_

_**He's here.**_

_What?_

She was irritated; all she wanted to do was sleep for a month. Something was banging on the door—it must be Murtagh—and they entered.

"Oh," he said, skidding to a stop, as she sat up in bed. "We're to dine with the King tonight."

She blew out a breath and nodded, getting out of her new bed. "Fine."

He looked surprised at the uniform she was still wearing. "You will wear the Healer's uniform to dinner?"

"I've nothing else," she said, trying not to look embarrassed. In truth, the uniform and a few pairs of leggings and single pair of Healer's slippers were all she had.

"I will have a servant send other things here. You want to look well for dinner. Besides, the many Lords and Ladies are eager to send you boots, belts, jewels and gowns."

She nodded, again feeling as if, despite all his words, he was looking straight through her.

_He doesn't like me._

The fact cut straight through her like a cold knife. She had thought they had a good relationship; at least cordial when he had healed her. However, ever since then, their relationship had cooled considerably, and she hadn't the faintest idea why.

He inclined his head ever so slightly, his expression unreadable, and departed.

Illera put her hair up into a simple twist, binding it with a leather thong and using plain, iron pins to hold her hair in place.

A servant arrived, and he placed it at the foot of her bed before Illera bid him farewell. Apprehensively, she opened the lid, and then gasped.

She'd never seen such beautiful, sumptuous clothing before.

Well, she had; only never for her.

There was beautiful satin white, forest green and scarlet red silk, buttery yellow and deep blue heavier cloth for colder times. Even more; she dug through the trunk, turning up belts and shoes, each more elaborate than the last. Illera tugged a pair of black leather, knee high boots out for every day use. For tonight, though…

She pulled out the red gown; it cascaded down to her feet and did not have sleeves. She could wear her Healer's shoes and it wouldn't be noticed.

Illera pulled it on, still wondering at the lightness of the material. It fit her reasonably well; she used a black leather belt to better tie it to her body.

_**Red.**_

_You would rather me wear purple?_

She could sense Amira's annoyance at the color she'd chosen, and smiled.

_It's only a color._

Amira huffed, curling up on the bed.

Illera finished, scrutinizing her appearance in the mirror and bit her lip. Still, she could not fit the part of a lady.

She sighed. _Perhaps I never will,_ and rummaged for the balm made of honey and walnut butter. She'd found it inside her nightstand, along with other traveling supplies, and found it soothed her lips immensely.

_I will be going,_ she told Amira. _When I return, I will bring you food._

Amira merely sent a feeling of contentment back at her and Illera stepped out of her rooms, locking the door carefully with the silver key Murtagh had given her. She'd put it on a chain, just in case, but felt that any magician would be able to force his way into her suites.

Murtagh was waiting for her in the hallway. He was wearing a navy shirt and matching breeches; the tunic over it was green.

Usually impassive, his eyes showed a flicker of surprise when he saw her.

"Baring your shoulders?" he asked.

She shrugged, feeling self-conscious. "I liked the color."

He wore his own clothes—embroidered with his father Morzan's coat of arms—with an arrogant disdain; far different than her wide eyed wonder. They walked silently to the Great hall, where Galbatorix sat, surrounded by his Lords and Ladies. To his right, a man Illera knew to be Lord Damien, the man who ran the daily, tedious matters of the realm sat; there were two empty seats beside Galbatorix's left.

"Come," Murtagh said, steering her lightly to the seat further from Galbatorix. Illera stared as the food was served, eating daintily bits of each dish. Throughout the dinner, Murtagh spoke only when spoken to; whether it be Galbatorix or another Lord. As for Illera, she kept to herself and Amira; only speaking to a Lady Gwendolyn to thank her for the red dress. When Galbatorix spoke to her, she responded as well; when he didn't, she hung on his every word anyway. If he was to be her Lord, she wanted to know everything about him. As soon as she could, though, she politely excused herself.

Amira was waiting as she shut and locked the door behind her. Illera tossed a piece of lamb into the air, and Amira leaped off the bed, catching it in her mouth and letting her wings flutter open to catch the air and lower her softly to the ground.

_**Good dinner?**_ Amira asked.

Illera sighed, sitting down on her bed, still wearing her red dress. _As well as it could have been._

She curled up in her bed, feeding Amira and reaching for her second book in as many days. Murtagh had impressed upon her the importance of books and so she was attempting to get through as many as possible.

This was her life now.

…

Almost two months later, Illera had improved immensely without Galbatorix's magic. Her body was harder, leaner due to the many training sessions she worked through each day, her mind sharper and stronger due to the lessons she learned. Galbatorix only taught her and Murtagh together once a week; Murtagh and a team of magicians and swordsmen taught her otherwise.

Murtagh said she was lucky; there had been only a trace of bitterness in his tone. Galbatorix had not asked her to swear oaths to him yet.

It wasn't until Illera realized halfway through another spar with the king's best swordsman that she could see a tiny area where he never seemed to twist his body. She had always known he could not reach there, yet now…she realized how she could exploit it. First Illera smashed leftwards; he caught her blocked blade skating of his shield. As quickly as she could, she swiped at his head and then slammed the blade right towards his left ribs.

Murtagh nodded as she helped her opponent up.

"Spellweaving," was the only thing he said, and they departed the sparring grounds a half hour early.

Illera did not think Galbatorix was as bad as Murtagh seemed to imply. Torturing Murtagh, yes, that was beyond horrible, especially as Murtagh could be killed at any time by the Blue Rider while seeking Shadeslayer out on the King's orders. However, he had promised fame, glory, power, and thus far, he had not disappointed.

However, as they walked into the Library, Galbatorix was waiting for them. Illera's skin crawled: she respected him, and knew him to be extremely powerful, and knew he was to teach her about his greatness, but his dark charisma frightened her.

"Illera, you will be studying the lists of true names here, of these animals. Murtagh, the grammar of the language," Galbatorix said smoothly.

Illera was left to her own devices, while Murtagh struggled with the language. He was quick to learn, even if the reason behind that was if he got it wrong, Galbatorix would mutter a few words and Murtagh would groan in pain.

She could hear his 'learning' go on, and knew she was getting off lightly. Galbatorix wasn't forcing her to pledge herself to him until she knew the subtleties of grammarye.

She heard Murtagh give an involuntary grunt, and she shuddered, thanking the gods it wasn't her.


	3. Chapter 3

Galbatorix invited them to dinner once more after hearing Murtagh's report on Illera. Illera knew this was no idle meeting of friends; he wanted to know her progress. When could she fight the Varden on his command? Could she pledge herself to him?

Illera felt adrenaline begin its addictive drip into her bloodstream. For however much she knew Galbatorix was evil, his charisma captivated her, and she yearned for the chance to prove herself.

Murtagh escorted her once more, having waited in the hallway that separated their two suites. Not once in the more than three months she had trained with him had he stepped inside her rooms, and neither had she stepped in his. He valued privacy; this much she had surmised and it mattered little to him whose it was.

"Not another dinner, hm?" Illera smiled at him; she'd discerned that he detested these private dinners almost as much as he hated Galbatorix himself.

Murtagh grunted.

"The grammar today, especially in the Elvish books in the library, was very…interesting," she tried again.

Murtagh made a noncommittal noise.

She gave up; she was accustomed to this anyway. Murtagh, despite her efforts to befriend him, as she smiled and spoke to him, remained distant.

Illera's body—arms especially—was sore from the vigorous workouts she had put herself through. From the Rimgar exercises that Galbatorix wished for her to master before granting her grace to rival an elf, to the swordplay that he would slightly augmented by granting her speed and strength…Galbatorix promised so much and she could hardly wait to see what lay in store for her.

The dinners they ate were sumptuous, the best in the land. Steaming vegetables and bread, as well as beef and pork and fowl were all served at the King's table; every night in the Great Hall. However, tonight, Galbatorix wished to see them alone.

The two of them waited at the door of the King's library, where two guards stood silently. Something, then, that had been gnawing on Illera began to surface; aggravated by the cold silence Murtagh continued to show her.

They entered the library a few minutes later.

Galbatorix was waiting, at a magnificently glossy walnut table.

"Murtagh, Illera," he said; his voice did the familiar thing where it washed over her and rang in her ears.

She smiled at the King. "My Lord," and took a seat when he motioned for them to do so.

Murtagh only managed a stiff nod.

Galbatorix began speaking once more. "Illera, Murtagh tells me that you have finally bested his best swordsman. You will continue to spar, but now, with one of my best. I will also give you fleeter feet and strength to rival an elf, for soon you will accompany Murtagh to pay a visit to the Varden."

Illera nodded, and Galbatorix murmured several words in a long phrase. She didn't feel any different, but Murtagh stiffened when the energy seemed to crack the air.

"However, Murtagh does say that your pronunciation isn't always correct in gramarye. He says that you memorize well enough, but when it comes to practical application, you stumble."

Illera didn't say anything, only nodded once more, and subtly tightened the armour around her mind.

_**But Murtagh said you were doing exceptionally,**_ Amira whispered…

Galbatorix continued. "Until then, you must pledge yourself to me, now. Here are the words…"

He spoke the words, and Illera nodded; there was no way out of this, and repeated them.

"Galbatorix," he added, and she said his name after a slight pause.

He looked pleased. "Fine then. Now, on to more pleasant things."

The dinner consisted of an assortment of vegetables and thick, steaming slices of ham. It was delicious, and Galbatorix soon sent them off, saying that he would speak with them in the morning.

Murtagh and Illera walked back to their rooms, both silent. It wasn't a calm and easy sort of silence either; it was tense, brimming with barely concealed anger from both sides.

Finally, when they were about to part, she could bear it no longer.

_**Be careful…**_

"Why did you tell Galbatorix that I was not proficient in the language? Why did you tell him so when you have told me my improvement has been rapid?" she demanded.

Murtagh glanced at her, and then, when she was about to explode, pulled her into his rooms and shut the door.

"I don't understand!" she finally raised her voice, something she had not done since Meira once ordered her to clear the chamber pots. "Why—"

"Do you not understand?" his voice was angry, loud but also strangely hushed. "That is all that has kept you from pledging yourself to him earlier! Because I have told him you do not have the means do. You have ruined any further opportunity you could have had for escape. Soon, he will have you pledging more and more oaths now that you have proved you can speak the words fluently. You have caged yourself in; there is nothing I can do now to aid you."

Throughout the tirade, as she processed the information, she realized how his grey eyes were eternally hard as he looked at her. They always were cold, distant. And then, she thought she knew what was wrong.

"Then why do you dislike me so?" she asked, voice quieter now, but she hadn't lost any of her fury. "And do not say you don't, because I know that you do."

Murtagh stared at her, the way she looked, glaring at him and with her long black hair splayed against her shoulders. "Because I have seen the way you look at Galbatorix. You admire him, you _want_ power and fame and glory. You don't see him as a tyrant! You actually wish to—"

"Is it wrong to want to learn my own craft? Is it wrong to want to be successful and powerful as a Rider? You are the same! You enjoy your power! Why is it that I cannot?"

Murtagh's eyes burned into hers as he pressed closer to her. "Because you have not seen what lengths he will go to control you! Or if you have, you do not think he is evil! He's mad, and you don't see that!"

Illera stepped back slightly and asked, very softly, "How can you say that, when I was the one who healed you?"

He didn't speak, and she turned her back on him, walking away. The door shut with a tiny click behind her.

She entered her own room, locking it securely behind her.

_Amira, I'm coming out._

_**Through the window?**_

_Yes. I cannot stay here, not now._

Illera belted her sword over her tunic, pulling on black hardened leather bracers and shin guards. A dagger was strapped onto her arm, and she pulled on her leather boots, going to the window and removing the frame. All of this, she accomplished in just a few minutes.

Amira she could sense winging towards her, and so Illera placed a foot onto the stone ledge, and leaped off.

Amira coasted beneath the fourth floor of the castle where the Riders lived and Illera landed smoothly upon her back.

_So that's that, then. He hates me because he thinks I don't know what Galbatorix is. But Amira, is it wrong for a doctor to wish to save his patient? Is it wrong for a soldier to practice his craft so he may survive on the battlefield? Why is it so different for a Rider?_

_**Do not make his words too harsh. In fact, I think it would be better if you did not dwell upon what Murtagh said.**_

Illera scowled as Amira lazily swept higher, and in a loop. _The day we met he did not seem to have such an opinion of me. Would he rather I remain weak?_

_**Illera,**_ Amira huffed and a puff of smoke blew out of her nostrils, flowing back to swamp Illera.

She coughed. _Amira!_

_**Oops. Sorry. I am not used to the smoke yet;**_ she had only begun to puff smoke a week ago.

_Then how will I face him tomorrow?_ Illera patted the smoke off her clothes, shaking her head so her hair tossed behind her.

_**As you always do. Politely. As the student to the mentor.**_

Illera narrowed her eyes; it was the last thing she wanted to do. But she knew Amira was right.

_I don't wish to return just yet. I've been cooped up in the castle since I healed Murtagh. I want to go out into the markets. There is always a good night market, I remember. _

Amira huffed again, but Illera murmured something quickly so the smoke passed over her harmlessly.

_**I cannot go therein,**_ she said. _**You must know this.**_ Despite her young age, Amira had rocketed in size, and Galbatorix had augmented that; allowing Amira to grow twice as quickly as she normally could.

_How are you feeling?_

_**Fine; do not worry about me. I may be young and too big for my age, but I've more knowledge than you. Besides, Thorn went through the same thing, and he is fine.**_

_Sometimes I feel as if his life has been a sick joke. He hatched for Murtagh, only to become enslaved. _

_**Is my predicament not the same?**_

_Galbatorix has been infinitely kinder to us than to Murtagh and Thorn._

Amira acknowledged this.

_Amira, I wish to mingle amongst the people. Will you allow me to?_

_**I will never be far from you. If you need my aid, I will know. Do not tarry long; tomorrow is another day.**_

_Thank you,_ Illera readied herself, slipping her legs from the knots that bound her to Amira's saddle, and jumped a few feet onto the nearest building, rolling to break her fall. The coverings on the building were only baked terracotta, and she scrambled, jumping down from the two story building. The impact would have broken her legs, if not for the enchantments Galbatorix had already bestowed upon her.

She wandered through the markets, setting undetectable wards upon her so that none would be able to reach within two inches of her. So this was how, as she absently looked at herbs at an apothecary, fingered a few bolts of fine white linen, and then slipped back into the throngs.

_**We cannot tarry much longer…**_

_Will you meet me at the castle?_

_**Yes.**_

Illera gradually made her way back to the castle, slipping around to the back where Amira had landed as softly as she could. Once more, she leaped into the saddle, and Amira gently rose and Illera scrambled back into her suite.

Only to find…

Murtagh stood in her doorway, the door completely ajar, staring as she had one leg upon the ledge.

_I didn't check to see…_Illera realized dimly.

He glared at her. "Where in hell were you?"

She leaped from the ledge calmly, replacing the frame and drawing the curtains. "Do you really need to know?" she asked, voice level as she met his eyes.

His gaze sharpened and he grabbed her wrist with a speed she couldn't comprehend, dragging her out of her room and into his.

"You may not like this," Murtagh spat out, "But I'm your only hope to surviving this war. I suggest you become more forthright with me."

Illera's gaze was still cool as she calmly removed her wrist from his grip, even as her pulse quickened and temper flared. "Why is it that you are my only hope? And tell me, please, why I should trust you."

_**Little one! Appease him; do not anger him further. What he speaks is true, and we cannot afford to have him as an enemy. **_

_I cannot, I must have answers Amira, this has itched at me for a month already._

His eyes blackened with fury. "Because I shield you from Galbatorix! I am the only one, along with Thorn, that stands between him taking you for whatever pleasures he would take, and the only one that stands between him punishing you! Do you seek to alienate me?"

_**He does speak the truth. Thorn tells me much the same. Illera, do not continue!**_

_I will have one more question._

He was standing just inches away, and Illera turned her head a half-turn to avoid those burning eyes. "Why do you insist on taking me into your rooms to speak?"

"My rooms have many layers of enchantments upon them, so that none, not even Galbatorix can see or hear what occurs here," he said coldly. "I suggest you do the same."

Illera did not know what to say. _He is right._

_**As I told you. Appease him now. He is still furious and has a right to be so.**_

_What? What can I say? Amira! _

_**Tell him that you value his opinion, and that you will not question his authority again.**_

"What you say is true," Illera said more calmly, after some time. "I am sorry to have doubted you. It shall not happen again."

He merely nodded stiffly.

Illera looked away; she did not know what to say. Murtagh, he was cold, hard, distant; a fair teacher, yet not one that would win her loyalty or allegiance. Each time she attempted to begin a conversation ended in a harsh or firm shut down.

The lamplight caught his dark hair and made the edges seem to glow like embers, even as his grey eyes lightened from their furious, darkened stage.

_I wish he could be more friendly. Just—the way he is, I cannot seem to simply befriend him, and it…It's lonely, Amira, even with you now._

_**Thorn is almost the same way. But Thorn speaks more readily than his Rider.**_

Illera suddenly placed a hand lightly on his arm, surprising herself at her boldness. "But do not think that I will now follow you like a dog."

With that, she disappeared through his doorway, and the door slid shut with a click.

Illera's heart pounded as she locked her own door. She'd never even considered that Galbatorix could be spying on her…

_**We should have guessed! Will you remedy this now?**_

_Yes. I must…_

Quickly, she clutched at words, rearranging in her head to be the most succinct and clear spell and spoke the words of a long sentence. As soon as she finished the last syllable, she felt a gust of energy sweep out of her, leaving her feeling deflated.

Black swirled behind her eyes and she staggered to her bed, like a drunken sailor.

_**Illera!**_ Amira poured energy into her, just enough so she could open her eyes.

_Thank you,_ she said. _I hadn't expected…_her lips opened in a giant yawn.

_**Sleep,**_ Amira immediately said. _**Tomorrow training will begin anew.**_

She didn't respond; already gone.

She dreamt of fire.

In her dream, she was stumbling across a peaty land, with little candle-like flames cropping up in potholes and thick smog pouring from tears in the earth.

There was a screech overhead, and as she looked up, she realized she was in the middle of a battle. An ax passed right through her chest, and she couldn't help but duck a dozen arrows as they fell to earth. A thick gout of flame engulfed her, but she felt nothing of the iridescent fire.

Two dragons circled overhead, one brilliant blue and the other shimmering like a blood coated gem.

Two Riders on those dragons fought desperately; the glint of their swords shone in the hot sun and Illera's breath caught when someone's helmet was ripped away and dropped to the ground.

And then the blue dragon bit at the red, and caught a wing, tearing it. Blood bubbled and fell like rain to the peaty soil, and her breath caught in her throat.

And then fire engulfed her once more.

…

Illera woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmare she'd had; something that seemed far too realistic to simply be a dream. Blue and red dragons—those had to be Saphira and Thorn; their Riders Eragon Shadeslayer and Murtagh Morzansson.

_**Little one, it was only a dream. Nothing more.**_

_I can't…I cannot shake the feeling that it was more than just a dream. All of it felt too real._

_**Perhaps you should ask Murtagh.**_

_No._

Amira snickered. _**Are you feeling too nervous to ask him, Illera?**_

_No,_ Illera let her irritation shine through their mental link. _I simply don't wish to speak to him after last night._

_**Nervous.**_

Illera rolled her eyes, trying to get back to sleep and trying to ignore her dragon.

She'd slid back into the world of dreams when someone knocked at the door several times. There was a pause, and then a voice asked, "Illera?"

Amira snorted, reaching out with her mind to discover who the voice was. _**Enter. She will not wake otherwise.**_

The lock clicked open and Murtagh stepped into her parlor, then bedroom warily. "Illera?" he asked once again, more softly.

She stirred from her bed, only opening her eyes when he crossed the room to stand beside her. "Murtagh," her voice was thick, husky with sleep. "How long have you been attempting to wake me?"

"Long enough," his voice was strangely low. "I would have you in the kitchens for breakfast now."

She sat up, rubbing her eyes as her hair cascaded down her shoulders. "Fine." Illera got out of bed, ushering him into her study. "I must change."

He raised an eyebrow, but waited, none too patiently for her.

She finally emerged, and Murtagh led her down to the kitchens. No conversation occurred, even as they departed to study magic.

Illera curled up in an armchair, setting herself to conjugating verbs in the ancient language.

Murtagh cleared his throat. "You have nearly progressed to the next stage of your training."

She cocked her head curiously.

"You will learn how we can augment our power, and not just from our dragons' bodies."

Her expression changed warily. "What d'you mean?"

He just nodded at her. "You'll see, soon. It's not my place to teach you anyways."

Illera nodded, dipping her head back to her book. He could only watch as she shut herself off from him; such a marked difference to the wide-eyed teasing girl who tried to coax out a grin or smile from him.

He blew out a breath, resigning himself to his fate. He could not afford to let Illera open herself up to danger; especially here in Uru'baen, and he could not afford to be the one she opened herself up to.

So why did it annoy him so?

…

Illera sucked in a breath after she hit the hard-packed dirt for the hundredth time. She'd landed on her back, knocking the wind out of her—also for the fiftieth time or so. Murtagh was annoying the hell out of her.

"Faster," he barked. "Use your wits, not just your sword. Use your body!"

_Easy for him to say. He has Za'roc! And also has about fifty pounds of muscle and several inches more than me._

_**Then what do you have? You are leaner, can you evade him?**_

_If Galbatorix would give me speed and strength of an elf, I could._ The annoyance was plain in her mind; she would have to rely on wits for this spar. He was stronger than her; in body, mind, power. Faster, more practiced.

Illera ignored his proffered hand, getting up more slowly. She was aching all over; there was blood coming from somewhere on her head and one of her arms, and this was thoroughly embarrassing her.

Murtagh scowled. "Pace yourself, Illera. Come, once more."

Illera raised her arms—feeling how tired they were—and swung, trying to deflect his blows. But it was as if her arms were weighed down by iron weights and he smashed the pommel of his sword through her protective wards into her armored chest, and sending her flying backwards. She slammed into the dirt meters away with the force of a Dragon landing, and lay still.

_**Illera!**_ Suddenly the anguished cry ripped through the minds of dragons and Riders.

Murtagh hesitated, and then ran to her side.

She was feebly attempting to remove her armor, and, viewing the damage he'd wrought, Murtagh knelt and hastily unstrapped the breastplate for her.

Amira landed with several thuds, each loud enough to deafen.

_**Why do you insist on doing this to her?**_ Amira demanded, sweeping aside Murtagh's defenses in her flashing fury. _**Why is it not enough for you to decline any friendship with her and leave her alone? Why do you insist on punishing her?**_

"I am not _punishing her,_" Murtagh spat. "I am training her! Shadeslayer shall not show her mercy, and nor shall I."

_**Any more training by your hand and she will die.**_

He stared hotly at the dragon before turning away with disgust back to the fallen Rider.

…

Illera was attempting to heal herself, but she didn't know how. Besides, it felt like bones had broken and it was hard for her to breath. Without seeing the damage, she couldn't heal herself.

She sensed someone above her, taking off her armor. Their breathing caught, and she opened her eyes, straining against the sun to see who it was.

_**Murtagh. Murtagh! I will kill him! Illera…**_

_Why can't I breath? I…why is there water running down my chest?_

_**Illera…**_

_**That is not water. Hold, hold, he will heal you soon enough! I will make sure of it!**_

Blearily, she realized Amira had never been this distraught before…

Murtagh murmured a long string of words—possibly the longest sentence in gramarye that she'd ever heard him speak—and suddenly the hot liquid dripping across her chest was gone, she could breath and everything felt whole.

Illera gasped, chest heaving as she fought for air. "Murtagh…you…"

He couldn't say anything, hot guilt and anger at himself flooding his body. Her eyes were half lidded, and when she sat up, she caught sight of her armor.

Err, what was left of it. It had a gaping crater in the center, with the metal exploding inwards. There was scarlet blood ringing the hole.

He'd attacked her with so much force.

Amira snarled, and suddenly, Illera had disappeared; taken in Amira's claws and both Dragon and Rider were gone.

They left Murtagh standing in a pool of dusty blood and broken armor.

…

_Amira,_ Illera tried, as the currents whipped her body and she felt dizzy from their height.

_**Be still. I am taking you to where Shruikan has taught me there are small forests. We shall be alone there.**_

_Training…what happened? I…Zar'roc went straight through my wards…my armor. How can he have so much strength?_

_**Yes, he has so much strength because Galbatorix has gifted him with the powers of an elf; he knows this. I cannot believe he hit you with such force.**_

_Amira, I must go…training…_

_**No. You will not leave my side until I can trust whomever you are with. Murtagh very nearly killed you. If I hadn't forced energy into you—do you know that one of your bones had punctured your heart? And many were shattered. Your chest was concave. If he had been but any slower…**_

Illera was silent as she realized how close she had been to passing into the void.

_He is my mentor. If I cannot trust him, the only one left is Galbatorix. I cannot—I must trust Murtagh._

_**Even with your life? Even after this spar?**_

Illera could not answer her dragon. _It must be him. I—who else could I trust?_

It was frighteningly depressing that neither of them could answer it.


	4. Chapter 4

Illera curled up underneath Amira's wing as the purple dragon continued her education with Shruikan. Thorn was there, yea, but Amira ignored him as if he were a speck of dust on her claws.

Shruikan had barely even acknowledged Illera; he pretended as if she weren't there so as not to disturb her.

It didn't matter though that the other dragons seemed to allow her to stay with Amira and attempted to give her a calm atmosphere. Her mind was in upheaval.

Murtagh, he couldn't have meant to hit her that hard. Couldn't have! No matter what Amira said, she refused to believe that he could—would—hurt her.

It just…

But then the images and memories of how he refused to smile at her, of how he insisted that they train with no holds barred—

She shuddered. Even if she'd wanted to be more than mentor and student, even if she wanted to be friends; could she trust him?

Amira seemed convinced she couldn't. Shouldn't trust him.

But something drew Illera to him, told her to trust him, wanted her to endear herself to him.

She slid in and out of rest, and it was close to nightfall by the time the dragons halted training.

Amira landed near her, and nosed her awake. _**Illera, if you wish to return to the castle, we must leave now. Before Thorn decides to return.**_

_I will go._

Illera leaped from Amira several minutes later, onto the rooftop of the castle as she headed inside. Her chest still ached—no matter the healing; nothing could take away the feeling of having a superhuman slam you in the chest with all their strength. Illera shrugged this off, wincing at the soreness and disappeared into her own room to curl up in her bed with more Elvish stories. Galbatorix had possession of many Elven works; Uru'baen had been the site of an Elvish city before the Fall.

She practiced maneuvering the elements with her mind—a jug full of water beside her bed was emptied; water became a hard orb, she created a small current of air that rustled her bedcovers. Illera frowned, bored, and absently began to examine the molecules that made up the compact orb that hovered in front of her.

It seemed so solid though; like if she were to touch it, it would be a slippery, slick and hard surface. Rather like Amira's scales.

As the water caught the light of the lamps in her room, she hesitated. The way it shone with this cool, colored watery light…she had seen that pattern of dappled shine before.

She searched for this answer, and was on the very edge of giving up when she realized.

Murtagh's sword.

Zar'roc had a ruby in the pommel that shone just like this.

She had an idea.

"_Thrysta Adurna,"_ she whispered—compress the water.

The orb shimmered, and folded in on itself to create the image in her head. When it finished rippling, she looked at what remained.

A diamond the size of a walnut lay in her hand.

Incredible.

_**The power of magic…**_

There was a commotion some where outside of her bedroom and she jerked her head upright, reaching for her sword and leaping out of bed.

Murtagh burst into her room—the door banged against the stone wall behind him—and he leaped forward to an unnaturally graceful halt that sent chills up her spine. His dark eyes set themselves upon the sword she carried, and he paused.

"Murtagh!" she said, shocked at his appearance. "Why…you could have knocked," she sheathed her sword, and Amira growled through their link. _**I told you to be wary of him…we cannot trust him!**_

_I must, Amira. If I cannot trust him, whom can I trust?_

He turned back to shut the door before continuing forward to stand beside her.

"How are you?" he asked as she sat down onto her bed.

She shrugged. "Well enough. Yourself?"

He inclined his head, and she turned away from him, Amira's admonitions ringing through her head. It was all she could concentrate on to avoid a splitting headache.

Murtagh's lips curled into a wan smile. "Amira hasn't forgiven me?"

Illera shrugged, then winced. "No."

"Have you?"

"I don't believe—that it was your fault," she said softly, concentrating on the wall opposite to avoid Amira's formidable thoughts. "I don't believe that you would have attacked me like that on purpose."

He was silent. "What makes you so sure?"

Illera turned slowly to him, eyes measuring him. "I am not. However, how can you let me believe that you, the sole human apart from Galbatorix I am allowed to truly speak freely with—how can you cause me to believe that you wish me harm? How could you seem to tell me that I truly cannot trust anyone except Amira?"

"I would not," he said slowly. "My tutelage under Galbatorix has been harder than yours under me, Illera. Do not forget that."

She lifted her chin. "You are a solitary man, and I have ere been one of a more trusting nature."

"You haven't been trusting with me."

Illera shrugged her shoulders. "Murtagh, you have rebuffed me at every turn. When I gave you a smile, you returned only a hard look; when I attempted to coax conversation out of you, I was met with silence and when I endeavored to become friends, you chose to complete training with no holds barred. I admit now that I have given up; Amira tells me I was foolish to even try. So, do not say I have not tried, for I have attempted until my mind aches from rejection."

He was silent, and then reached out to place a hand upon her set shoulder. "I beg your pardon," he said, with only a trace of his usual mocking tone. "Know that what defenses kept—and still keep—me safe are the ones that also bar those nearest me away."

Her shoulders loosened a fraction of an inch. "You consider me close to you?"

"Yes," he said. "Closer than anyone else besides Thorn."

"Yet I am not close to you, not near to your heart," she said. "I know I am not. What will be, will be, Murtagh, I do not need fine words to appease me."

"You are a fine one to talk of separation and pulling away after criticizing me!"

Illera simply turned her head to look at him, Amira's words swirling in her mind. _**Can't trust…**_

"Can I trust you?" she asked.

He looked at her, steel eyes catching onto her dark ones. "More than anyone else in Uru'baen."

"That doesn't answer my question."

He blew out a loud, angry breath. "You seem determined to frustrate me."

That brought a slight smile to her lips and she laughed before the soft sound twisted off into a sharp inhalation.

Murtagh whipped his head around. "What is it?"

"I—it's nothing," she exhaled carefully, turning her body away from him. Her hand crept to her chest, rubbing her breastbone in the center of her chest.

"Is that because of…" Murtagh trailed off.

Illera didn't answer, thinking of words in the ancient language to reduce the bruising of the bone.

"Let me," he said abruptly, reaching towards her.

Illera let out a soft laugh. "Mur—no," she said, whispering a few words and the bruises disappeared.

His brows furrowed together in confusion. "Why not?"

"Well, I _am_ female," she said, rolling her eyes. "If I allow you to heal me in this…particular area, my honor may well be compromised."

"Oh," he turned away, mollified. "I…I just…uh—"

Illera smiled, and rose, leading him to the door. "Go on, Murtagh. Tomorrow is another day, and today has been very trying already."

He paused inside the door, nodded to her, and was gone.

Training continued, and Illera could feel the difference between them. Ever since he'd punched straight through her armor, he treated her differently. Even as he demanded she push herself more and more, his manner outside of training was as if he were speaking to a noblewomen; a Lady.

The life of a Rider at Court was rather a lonely one. Besides Murtagh, the dragons, and the noblemen attempting to win her favor, there were none who interacted with her.

At the moment, she was in Murtagh's study, searching for one of the tomes that he'd set for her to read.

"Murtagh, you once told me that there was a way to become very powerful; the way you had overpowered Shadeslayer. But you have not shared this with me."

He glanced at her, perched atop a wooden table on her tip-toes, as she reached for a book at the highest shelf of his bookcase.

"Perhaps I will. In time. When Galbatorix demands that we fly out, he will undoubtedly share some of this power with you."

Illera narrowed her eyes as she leapt down from the table, landing without even a scuff on the slate floor. Murtagh didn't even bat an eye—Galbatorix had augmented both of their agility and strength to rival the strongest elves.

"When will he demand that we leave?"

Murtagh hesitated, not answering her for several moments.

"Murtagh, I know that you know of military matters; do not pretend as if you do not," she coaxed.

"We will be summoned to him very soon. I know that he wishes to test you, especially. Perhaps a raid against the Varden."

She nodded, opening the book to the first page.

Illera couldn't concentrate, sitting in the armchair. Murtagh was a few feet away, and she kept glancing at him through her eyelashes.

_**Illera! Concentrate. Your training is what matters now.**_

_I __**am**__ concentrating._

_**Cease staring at Murtagh!**_

_I am not! Attend to your own duties, Amira, I've more than enough on my plate at the moment._

Illera suddenly winced as Amira slammed the connection shut, leaving a ringing growl in her mind as she withdrew. The connection was still there; Amira simply was ignoring her now.

Immediately she felt ashamed for snapping at her dragon. It was not Amira's fault that Illera could not…

"What is the matter?" Murtagh asked.

"I—nothing," she said.

His grey eyes darkened; a furrow appeared in his brow. "Anything that you wish to tell me?"

Illera shrugged. "No. I'm….fine," she turned away from him, massaging her temples.

"Is it Amira?" he asked.

She slanted her eyes at him. "What?"

"Thorn tells me she still holds a grudge against me," he said carefully. "Because of what occurred some weeks ago."

Illera dismissed his queries with a wave of a hand. "Amira cares deeply for me, and for that, she may tend to place my safety above all else. I only…"

He sighed. "I know. Illera, there will be a meeting with the King some time soon. Shruikan has informed Thorn that he will wish to test us…test you."

Illera blew out a breath. "Very well."

She detested the way she was feeling; how she couldn't seem to focus on her work. No, her attention trailed to his dark hair, his sharp grey eyes, the way he moved with elegance and grace.

Her mind drifted back to their spar this morning.

"_Illera, faster! Strike harder, watch, like this. Each movement should meld into the other,_" each of his movements were fluid, so that she was awestruck watching him as he seemed to meld easily from one pose to the next, the sunlight glancing off his ruby blade and causing scarlet lights to dance around them.

She could not be more different, her blade was always stopped by him and she felt clumsy, knowing she was not naturally attuned to her sword. Maybe it was due to the fact that her sword was not perfectly balanced for her, or maybe simply because she had not studied the art for more than several months.

"Illera?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, returning her attention to the tome in her lap.

His eyes studied her, and she surreptitiously tightened the armor around her mind.

After some time, he let it go.

They were sparring once more two days later, and Illera was concentrating hard. But it didn't matter, no matter what she attempted, Murtagh constantly bested her.

"Why doesn't he simply give me the ability?" she spewed frustratedly after receiving a particularly hard knock on the ribs.

"Because then you would not understand your power," he said, more patiently than usual.

She knew the explanation, but it didn't ease her irritation.

He saw, and sheathed his sword. "Let us go and study the ancient language."

Illera followed his movement, realizing that while the days crept by, Galbatorix bound her more and more to his service. She was becoming closer and closer to what Murtagh was.

_We must leave._

_**How?**_

_I know not, yet we must._

But some part of her loved it in Uru'baen. Galbatorix was too busy, either cavorting with concubines or attending to some other project that Murtagh was left to teach her; and this she enjoyed above all else.

It wasn't right. It wasn't good; wasn't smart that she felt like this.

Even Amira didn't truly approve, yet she understood. Before her, Illera had had no one. And now, even though they were bonded beyond comparison, he was the only human she truly knew.

There were differences in love, and Amira was wise enough to know which applied to her.

Murtagh noticed her mood as he began explaining certain energies. "What is it, Illera, why have you not been able to focus today?"

She remained silent, troubled. And slowly, though, she spoke. "I am afraid."

He glanced at her. "Of what?"

She gestured at the two of them. "Of remaining here."

"There may yet be a way for you to leave," he said slowly. "Once Galbatorix has instructed us on our mission, I swear to you I will do whatever I can to help you leave. Upon my word as a Rider."

She remained quiet. "I—what of you, then, and Thorn?"

He grimaced. "I will see. But, I have bound myself too tightly to him; we have been forced to swear oaths upon oaths. You have not—yet. There is time for you to leave."

"What if I do not wish to?" the query tumbled from her lips before she had time to reconsider her thoughts.

He glanced at her sharply. "Why not? You would not flee to the Varden? Why would you not choose to leave?

"How can I escape when I know how you have been treated here? When I have not met with those same fates, when you have been here longer and have been punished longer? I cannot leave you even if I could escape the same fate."

Murtagh simply looked at her. "I have survived thus far, Illera, I do think I could survive longer."

"That is beside the point," she answered. "And it is not a question of strength. I do not doubt your strength."

"Then what is it you doubt?" his voice was very soft, but she heard the razor edge of it and could not answer.

What did she doubt?

If she herself had the strength to leave him.

She looked away, her jaw set and remained silent.

_**You should not worry so much. We may not yet be able to leave this place anyways.**_

_I know. But I still can hope. I can hope that Murtagh and Thorn will be able to follow._

Amira didn't respond, and Illera knew what she was thinking, but let a feeling of gratitude seep through their link that she did not say it.

Murtagh stood. "If you fail once more to answer me—"

Illera immediately stood as well. "Stay! I have not spoken yet," her voice matched his tone, but softened. "I wonder what you would think of me once you hear my reasons."

He waited, and she placed a hand on his arm. "Please…can we speak of this later?"

He released a breath. "Later, then. But Illera, know that you must release all inhibitions of leaving Uru'baen. The Va—the elves are the only place where you will be safe."

She matched his gaze. "I will."

His look turned cold but he did not press her and continued with the lesson. "Sorcery is a different art. Now, Shades are those…"

She stood in a sunny yellow gown, adorned with purple and black embroidery that another Lady had gifted to her. There was a Ball tonight; something that occurred infrequently enough that many nobles from the estates nearby Uru'baen had traveled to the city to attend.

Dinner had just been served, and she followed Murtagh into the huge ballroom, which had been temporarily cleaned of the many items permanently stored there.

She almost ran into Murtagh, who had paused by the side doorway they'd used.

"The balls that Galbatorix hosts," he murmured to her, stepping into the massive room. "You must be careful. Shield yourself with these wards"—here he paused and impatiently told her of the wards she was to use—"because he attempts to recreate the spells of the Blood Oath Ceremony of the elves. He may or may not be successful, I do not know, but the spells are potent and may warp your judgment even with the wards."

Illera nodded, blinking when she felt a rush of energy leave her.

"Will the dragons be affected?" she asked as Galbatorix spoke to the gathering, brushing her long hair out of her face.

He glanced at her. "Yes, save for Shruikan. Galbatorix has wards around both himself and his own dragon."

She nodded; and the music began to play.

The orchestra's notes teemed with the glow of music, and suddenly the room erupted in pairs of dancing nobles. Talk and the cacophony of music and occasional dragon roars made her ears hurt.

Galbatorix's magic swamped her; she felt overly warm and uncomfortable as the first words slipped over her wards. But her wards still held so far.

Soon, however, his magic swept hers away like a leaf in floodwater and she giggled, a wide smile breaking out upon her face. God! Why was she so happy? Why was she attempting to ward off this wonderful feeling? Why…

She heard Amira distantly through their link; the purple dragon was humming along to the music, causing the walls to rumble with vibration.

And she was dancing, first with Murtagh who was closest to her, and then with a dark haired nobleman dressed in livery of the brightest blue. She was laughing as she was spun left and right, laughing when the noble men she danced with attempted to brush a kiss onto her cheek and she ducked out of the way; he had to resort to kiss her hand as he bowed away—

Murtagh was almost the same way, but the lyrical strains of music hadn't stirred so much passion and delight in him. He was the stronger Rider anyway; his wards were more resilient. But even he could not say that she did not look beautiful, almost elf-like as the fey magic worked upon her and lit her face with delight.

He followed her, not realizing he was doing so until bumping into her.

"Murtagh!" she exclaimed; a wide smile beamed up at him. "Don't you love this?"

He only gave her a crooked smile. "Not as much, it seems, as you."

She laughed again, the clear sound ringing out even amongst the din and he spun her, head thrumming with the released emotions.

"Come," he said, and they danced their way across the vast space towards an area where servants stood to pour drinks.

A stooped man handed him two glasses of champagne, one of which he handed to Illera, who sipped it eagerly.

"Have you ever tasted champagne before?"

"No," she admitted, glancing at him. "I have never had the opportunity to."

"What do you think?"

"I could like it," she said, smiling a bit sheepishly at his chuckle. "I mean…after I grow accustomed to the taste."

There was a sparkle in her eyes that he had never noticed before; how hadn't he noticed it before? It was playful and sheepish and unapologetically wide-eyed. But he knew there was more steel to her than the flirtatious side that had come out through means of magic and alcohol.

They continued to dance after Murtagh handed the glasses to a servant, one song after the next. And soon, Galbatorix had disappeared with a lady and the clock had struck midnight.

"Illera, we should retire," Murtagh murmured after stealing her from a blonde nobleman's son.

She pouted. "Why ever should we?"

Her lips were bitten, giving her cherry red lips and her cheeks flushed from physical exertion and alcohol; she looked more delicate and exquisite than he had ever noticed before.

"Because," his voice was husky and she could hear it because there were only a few soft strains of music left floating through the air, and the dragons had long since silenced; bored with the proceedings. "We have many things to attend to tomorrow."

"As you like," she murmured, following him out of the ballroom, back to their quarters.

They had reached his rooms when she turned to him.

"Thank you," she said, smiling hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow, still halfway to inebriated. "For?"

Her eyes were sparking with the same combination of heightened emotions and dizzying, passionate warmth.

"For showing me tonight how happy I can be," she smiled wider, almost slap-happy. "How I may yet survive."

"I…it—"

She just smiled, placing a finger to his lips and unexpectedly wrapping her arms around him.

He inhaled instinctively, realizing that he had never ever been so close to her, not even in spars. He had always kept his distance, fighting her smiling invitations and tempting, wide eyes.

"I'm sorry," she drew back quickly, realizing that she had overstepped herself. "I—" their relationship was still one of tutor and pupil, nothing more.

He shook his head. "No, do not be. Yet, come inside," he opened his door, and placed his hand upon her waist, guiding her into his suite.

She smiled at him, spinning in a small circle as he locked the door. "Murtagh, tell me. Tell me of your life, your adventures before you became a Rider."

He sighed, striding across the rooms to go into his bedroom, where she followed him.

"You know my Father is Morzan," he said abruptly. "My mother; she was of a village named Carvahall. He had visited the village one day and she was there…she fell in love with him and left the village. She became his consort; he taught her all sorts of things—magic, bladecraft—in order for her to survive both at Court and at his castle. Soon I was born, and he knew that holding me was the key to controlling her."

She sat down upon his bed, transfixed by his story as he tossed Zar'roc onto his pillow, stripping himself of his leggings.

"One day, when I was three…Morzan was in a drunken rage. He threw that sword at me—yes, the one I bear now, my only inheritance from him—and it split open my back. Look—" he tore off his tunic and shirt, turning his back to her.

She stood, going to him, and saw the thick scar that slashed across his tan skin; knowing how hard it must have been to even heal it to such a degree.

"I'm sorry," she tried, and he laughed it off bitterly.

"I don't want or need your pity, Illera," he said. "I've—" then his expression changed.

"Illera, I hadn't meant to undress," he said, almost horrified. "I—I apologize—"

She waved it off dismissively, almost laughing in her muddled state of mind. "Murtagh, I was a healer. Now, I am one of the last Riders. Your state of undress does not concern me as much as it probably should," she almost giggled.

He sighed, acknowledging her logic with a rueful smile and sitting down upon his bed.

She took a seat beside him, letting her eyes take in the scar once more. It was thick, white, and ropy; she could only imagine how it must have looked before it had healed. But even as she thought this, her thoughts muddled; the magic and alcohol had combined in strange ways and had overwhelmed her wards completely.

She massaged her temples, and he noticed.

"What is it?"

She shook her head at her befuddled state. "I…my wards were not strong enough for his magic. I…"

He shifted. "Let me see."

Illera allowed him to raise her chin, to check her mental barrier, and she winced when he probed too sharply.

"I apologize," he said, and continued more gently, grey eyes connected with her deep brown ones.

"You simply haven't recovered from the spells Galbatorix wrought," he murmured. "That and…have you truly never drank before?"

"Never," she winced. "After champagne, I may have sampled too much whiskey and enchanted wine."

He laughed, a low sound; it thrummed pleasantly in her ears.

Unexpectedly, her gaze dropped down to his mouth, where his lips were just parted in laughter.

Murtagh caught a breath. "Illera…"

"Yes?" her eyes flicked to his before dropping to his bare chest.

Feeling emboldened by her interest, he placed a hand on her arm, where somehow it traveled down to her waist.

Perhaps a good night kiss would not be of any harm…

He leaned over her, noticing how her eyelashes were sooty black against her pale skin.

And he met her lips with his own, feeling how her body pressed against his and he was enveloped in her scent, the way she kissed back fiercely—

He groaned, letting his left hand slide up her body to fist in her long, thick dark hair and she shivered, breaking free of his grasp to run her hands down his chest.

Murtagh caught her lips once more with his own, feeling his heartbeat quicken and hearing her breath shorten. He pushed her down onto the bed, sliding his knee firmly between her legs. She let out a breath, and made a soft noise as he nibbled on her collarbone.

"Have you ever done this before?" she asked, panting and eyes lidded. Her head throbbed, both with the intensity of the physical contact and the influence of magic and alcohol.

Murtagh hesitated, drawing back, brown hair covering a good portion of his eyes. "Twice," he confessed, fingers trailing to the back of her gown to unfasten it.

Illera seemed to give a half shrug, eyes too hungry for his features. "Third time's the charm," she murmured and kissed him harder.

The magical influence of Galbatorix had seeped into their thoughts and alcohol into their stomachs; in the end, this night would be something the both of them would remember always.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Illera! Illera, wake! What have you done?**_

_Wha—Amira…why can't I…think? What has…happened?_

_**That is what I would like to know.**_

_I don't—_

_**Open your eyes, little one.**_

Blearily, Illera struggled to open her eyes; gods they were so dry.

The room was unfamiliar to her; why was her desk shifted to that side of the room? Why were there so many—

She shifted, and felt someone beside her.

_Gods-! _Her head pounded and she winced at it; she'd never had so much as a headache before!

She immediately rolled away from them, sitting up and blinking to clear her vision to see who it was.

_Murtagh! I—_

_**Little one…I warned you to be careful. I could not reach you before now! What have you wrought? What will become of us?**_

_I—I do not—_

She immediately threw the covers off of her, fingers scrambling for her gown; strewn beside the bed and pulled it on.

_How…I…_

_**Galbatorix's enchantments; Murtagh told you they would distort your judgment and so it has. I do not know why or how I could not contact you, but Thorn could not reach Murtagh either after he consumed alcohol. **_

_Amira, Amira, what will I do when he wakes? How can I face him? I…gods how could I let this happen? A noblewoman would never have allowed herself to this type of dishonor as has occurred here; this is the height of dishonor. And what if—_

_**Murtagh will have taken precautions if you are worried about children.**_

_How can you know this?_

_**Thorn told me that he is preoccupied with how his childhood was destroyed.**_

_I just—_Illera blinked back tears, biting her lip hard. How could she have been so stupid, so careless? How could this have happened? She never should have taken the glass he'd offered her; that had led to so much more. Now on top of everything else, she had a splitting headache.

Murtagh stirred behind her, and she wondered fleetingly if she could leave before he woke. No such luck; he opened his mouth and asked hoarsely, "Illera?"

"Murtagh—I—" she hastily attempted to pull up the gown to a respectable height, and she pulled the straps above her shoulders.

_**Do not push him away more than you can help. We are now bound to him; you must salvage what you can so we may yet survive.**_

Amira's words were soft, gentle; designed to ease her Rider's turmoil.

Illera turned away from the bed, clenching her hands so that her nails dug into her palm.

_What should I do? Amira, I—gods, how could this happen?_

Murtagh rose, and she couldn't bring herself to look at him through the dishonor and shame she felt now. Her reputation, pride; honor, all had been compromised in this one night. It mattered not that Murtagh was a fellow Rider; she was at Court and so…it would matter not even if Murtagh did not tell anyone of this night, because she would know and he would know too.

She shut her eyes hard, forcing herself to breathe evenly and deeply.

"Are you all right?" his voice was unexpectedly soft, and she nearly flinched from the effect of his voice on her battered brain.

"I just—how could I let this happen?" she said miserably, opening her eyes. "I—…no Lady would have allowed herself to have such a lapse in judgment yet I—what if…"

He said nothing, but the mood hardened. "If you are worried about any possibility of children, you needn't be," he said coldly. "I have my own protection and I suggest that you do the same."

'I just—didn't expect that the wine could do such damage to my judgment," she whispered.

"I hadn't known that you had never drank so much before," he said flatly.

"How could I have allowed this? How did we allow this? How is it that neither of us could—" she looked at him and he caught the full blast of her misery, her panic.

"How were you so overwhelmed?" she asked. "If you have seen this before and you could warn me, how is it that you were taken in by his spell too?"

He looked back at her, faint anger stirring in his eyes. "Think, Illera, and tell me why. How is it that Galbatorix can overcome me?"

_**Do not act rashly now…**_

She turned away from him, angry with herself for panicking and exposing her stupidity.

"What are you more upset about?" he asked icily. "That you slept with someone, or that you slept with me?"

Illera recoiled from him, ears ringing. "That is not a fair question! It is too different for men and women; it is nothing to men yet if a woman goes to bed with a man before marriage—you know this Murtagh, why are you asking me this?"

_**He is lashing out because of wounded pride, Illera; you must soothe him and tell him why you are upset. Do not attempt to tiptoe around this issue.**_

_He is irrational! He knows why women cannot simply go to bed with whomever they desire; unlike a man. This is—_

"Why are you so upset then? Do you not trust me? Do you think I would go amongst the Court, crowing about how I bedded you?"

Illera flinched. _Can he not see why I feel upset? Does he not know why I hate myself for going to bed with him—because I feel as if I can never leave Uru'baen now. How can I leave him?_

_**We will deal with this later. Illera, can you not tell him how you feel?**_

_How can I? At best he will not care. It will most likely alienate us further; and if Galbatorix found out…_

"You know I do not think that of you," she said quietly. "But the Court will find out anyways, and you know this too."

"I will not let them," he said, anger slightly eased. "I swear to you."

"How can you promise me this?" her question was simple, and she unclenched her fists.

He didn't answer for some time. "I cannot speak of how yet, but I hope I may soon have the opportunity. It depends on Galbatorix's whim."

She nodded. "Fine, then. Gods," she sat down on the chair next to his desk, massaging her temples hard.

Murtagh softened. "You must sleep it off."

"Fine then. I will—" her mouth opened in a yawn—"take my leave then."

"No," he said firmly. "I will go to find your clothes for you. Stay here. You do not want to be seen leaving my quarters so early."

She nearly blushed. "Oh—right. Then—" She could feel Amira's barely suppressed amusement; her dragon had found the whole affair amusing yet had shoved that aside in her concern for her Rider.

"Here," he said, handing her one of his shirts. "Wear this to bed. I will wake you later for training."

"Thank you," she said softly, smiling at him for the first time that day, and touching his mind lightly to express her gratitude.

He gave her a small smile, and soon disappeared.

Illera took off the gown, folding it and placing it upon his chair, pulling the shirt above her head and slipped back into his bed, sleep taking her quickly.

…

She could feel a conscious peering above her and she immediately hurtled from a deep trance to lashing out, her hand in a fist to defend herself.

"Whoa!" they caught her wrist securely—not hard enough to hurt, yet enough to shake her awake.

"Murtagh!" she exclaimed, blinking away sleep and fatigue. "I'm—I apologize. I thought—"

He was wearing a wry smile. "It isn't of any consequence. But I had been hoping to spar once more today."

She made a face, and laughed huskily. "If we do, today you would defeat me even more easily than usual."

"Not so," he smiled down at her. "Galbatorix wishes to speed up your training. He will gift you with the ability to spar and hold your own with me, and the elves."

Her eyes widened. "When?"

"Soon. Before dinner," he stretched out an arm and she took it gratefully as he pulled her to her feet. "You have already slept through lunch."

"Oh," she blinked apologetically, and yawned. "What were we supposed to have done today?"

He glanced at her. "Don't worry about it. You were…indisposed."

Illera immediately felt a flare of irritation. As if he hadn't been the same!

Amira let her amusement flood into her Rider's mind. _**Do not allow him to know of how you think of him and we may flee Uru'baen very soon.**_

_Amira…_

_**Would you wish to remain here, shackled to Galbatoric, even though Murtagh is near? That is no life, Illera…I would not have us become like them, bound to Galbatorix. **_

_You would abandon Thorn too, as you would have me abandon Murtagh?_

_**Abandon? I do not need Thorn and he does not need me,**_there was a hint of a snarl in her dragon's thoughts. _**We are dragons, born to be free.**_

_You do not care for him as I—_she stopped, unwilling to admit even to Amira that she had feelings for Murtagh.

"What are you thinking of?" said Rider abruptly asked.

She glanced at him, startled out of her conversation with Amira. "The war."

He blew out a breath. "What of it?"

"Shadeslayer. I—sometimes I fear that no matter how much training I receive and no matter how hard I strive, I will not be able to defend myself for long against him. It matters not how many times I spar for you…you have been practicing the craft for years and you can only just best him."

Murtagh nodded. "You have much reason to fear. Yet, Shadeslayer has only learned swordsmanship for several months; there may yet be time for you to catch up with Galbatorix's aid."

She glanced away. No matter how much she wished she could best Murtagh in a spar, she did not really want Galbatorix's help. It would feel as if she had taken a short cut—which she would have—and she did not want that. Even though it would help her survive, she wanted her own satisfaction, but it couldn't be helped.

It was too different between them now. Murtagh still seemed at a distance from her; she could not bridge the gap. And she still stung knowing what had occurred between them.

"Come," Murtagh said abruptly. "I would show you something, just outside Uru'baen."

She hesitated. Shruikan had taken Amira somewhere else; Thorn had had wool snagged between his teeth and Murtagh had had to get it out, and so only Thorn was at the castle.

Murtagh seemed to read her mind. "Come. We may ride on Thorn. Why are you afraid, Illera?" his breath teased her ear lightly before he pulled away.

"I am not," she protested, about to say more.

"Here," he handed her one of her tunics for daily wear. "I will be in my study."

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her eyes to get the last of sleep out of her face.

She changed into the tunic, pulling on the leggings he'd included to ward off cold before peeking into his study.

"Would—" she began, but he smiled, cutting her off.

"Thorn wouldn't mind," he said. "You are a Rider. Now let us leave; unless you would rather spar?"

She made a face at him, laughing. "Maybe if Galbatorix deigns to aid me."

He raised his chin at her, and headed out the door. Illera followed once he had established that no one was in the outside corridor.

They cut through the castle quickly and took a few short cuts that nobles didn't know about; servants' paths. And so they made it to the exit of the castle, where Thorn awaited them.

Illera glanced up at Thorn, wondering how to climb on top of him. Amira was still smaller, and she remembered how well her own first attempt to ride Amira had gone.

Murtagh strapped the leather seat onto Thorn, and, glancing at her, leaped easily atop his dragon.

"Illera," he said, reaching out a hand to nudge her into action.

She followed him, and he caught her arm, pulling her into place behind him.

Murtagh allowed her to wrap her arms around his waist and Thorn took off, gaining altitude easily.

Illera tossed her head, letting her dark hair stream behind her, and subtly tightened her grip upon Murtagh. It was not that she did not trust Thorn or his Rider, but that she could not communicate so intimately with them as with Amira.

_**Wherefore art thou?**_

_Murtagh wishes to show me something. When did you learn to speak as an ancient book?_

Illera could tell Amira had just snorted. _**Ebrithil had told me that your human tongue was not ornate enough for a dragon.**_

Illera smiled. _Whereas a human would think dragons are too complex for them to attempt to understand._

_**Then all is good in the world.**_

Her grin grew a little larger. _Attend to your studies—I am listening—and I shall see you soon._

She felt her dragon hum a response before Amira withdrew.

The wind whistled past them, and she shut her eyes to avoid tearing up.

Soon, Thorn banked over a gust of wind, spreading his wings to drift gently to the ground. Illera waited until Thorn had settled himself before leaping down lightly; she saw Murtagh glance quickly at the space where she had been just seconds ago and had to grin.

"I hope this was where you wanted to land," she shot a look around; it seemed to be a grove of trees, and when she investigated further, she found a small lake full of clear water.

"It is, but honestly," Murtagh narrowed his eyes in exasperation; he had gotten off Thorn, who settled himself onto the ground for a good position. "You would have done better to allow me to search the area beforehand, especially because I am already familiar with it."

"Murtagh, I had already searched with my mind," she said in defense of herself. "Besides, I am with you and Thorn, I do not know what would attack us."

"Shadeslayer, maybe?" he snapped, and she glanced at him.

"What is it you wanted to show me?"

He relented, even though she could sense his annoyance bubbling just beneath the surface. "Come," he led her to the lake, taking a seat on the shore.

"It's beautiful," was the first thing she said as she joined him. Uru'baen was noticeable in the distance, a sprawling city across the lake. The sky was a brilliant cerulean, the sun illuminated everything with its sunny glow.

"Yes," he said. "You haven't been out since you joined me under Galbatorix. Well…actually—I'm not quite sure where you were when I caught you coming back in through the window."

She looked at him before turning away, struggling not to smile. "A girl has to keep _some_ of her secrets, Murtagh."

He raised an eyebrow. "Were you meeting anyone?"

"Who would I meet?" she asked, completely bewildered.

He shrugged, averting his eyes to gaze upon the citadel.

Amira's amusement seeped through their link and Illera turned to her, confused. _What does he mean by that?_

_**If you do not know, Illera, then I am a mushroom.**_

_A mushroom? _

_**Look at him, ask him…see if you truly do not know.**_

Illera did neither, attempting to work out his words on her own.

He cleared his throat. "I find it useful to come here when I…need to sort out my thoughts."

"What thoughts does the famous Red Rider need to sort out?" she teased gently.

He snorted. "You would be surprised."

She shrugged.

_**I have finished with Shruikan. I am coming, now.**_

_Thorn is here._

_**I may not have forgiven Murtagh, but Thorn is not an object of my irritation.**_

_Mm. I will see you soon, then._

She saw Amira leap into the air and then returned to her own conscious.

Things between the two Riders still were awkward and uncertain; she felt uncomfortable since he was half genteel towards her and half irritated with her. Besides, she knew that the subject of last night was the gaping subject neither of them wanted to talk about.

He rose beside her, stretching. "I would have us return to the castle. Galbatorix will wish to see us soon."

Illera nodded as the wind around them gusted; Amira landed with several dull _thuds._

"Until then," she said, and Murtagh and Thorn were gone.

…

They were summoned to dinner only a few short hours after that, and Galbatorix eyed them.

"Did you enjoy the ball, Lady Illera?" he asked after their plates had been cleared; his voice doing the familiar thing and

setlling in her ears.

"Yes," she said, smiling as best she could at the king while her heart seemed to flip in her chest. _Could he know?_ "I especially enjoyed the champagne."

"Yes, wonderful, the delights here," Galbatorix murmured. "And what of you Murtagh, how did you find the ball?"

"Fine," he answered, stony-faced.

Galbatorix narrowed his eyes, but did not press for a response. "Murtagh says you have not managed to best him yet in sparring."

"No, your Majesty," Illera said.

_**This he must know; you cannot have hoped to have bested Murtagh—who has been training nearly all his life—in only a few weeks…**_

_I wonder what he is playing at. I don't—_

"Then I shall hasten your progess. I cannot allow you to go into battle without the proper means to defend yourself. And you shall soon have a mission; as soon as you have shown yourself capable of beating our dear Red Rider."

Illera only smiled. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Ah Murtagh, what say you?"

"Yea," Murtagh said stiffly. "As your Majesty commands."

"As I command, so it shall be. Rider Illera, come forward."

Illera knelt down before him, and Galbatorix began to chant. Most of it were words and phrases she knew only snatches of, but she could tell it was bestowing physical traits of the elves upon her; binding the traits with Murtagh's skill set and shaping her into a swordsmaster.

It took only a few more moments, and Galbatorix did not look much tired by his efforts. "Go on, then. Spar for me later, perhaps tomorrow."

Murtagh nodded, still stiffly, and they bowed before leaving the throne room.

Illera parted ways with Murtagh on the route back to their rooms; she wished to go to the library, and so she headed in a different direction. Besides, he looked to be in a terrible mood; she had no wish to subject herself to his dour temperment.

Once in the grand library, she found a quiet section on Elvish architecture—one of the many subjects she was devouring, with all the literature available to her—and began to read. The works were all in gramarye, but had been translated and so she had no difficulty with comprehension.

It was nearly midnight before she rubbed her eyes and began to head back to her room.

Amira had drifted off into sleep some time before, and so Illera was alone with her thoughts—entertained by a stray thread of Amira's dreams every so often—as she climbed a staircase to their quarters.

She had already begun to open her door when she remembered that she had left her gown in Murtagh's rooms.

Tentatively, she reached out with her mind, barely probing his suite of rooms to see if he was asleep as she slipped out of her room and opened his door slowly.

Instantly she stiffened, and shut the door hurriedly, dashing into her room. What her mental probe hadn't revealed she had discovered as she opened the door…

She had felt two human minds in his room. And when she had opened the door, sounds of pleasure had reached her.

Illera didn't realize that she was trembling as she shut her own door, hurrying into her bedroom. She undressed quickly, getting into bed before the full impact of what she'd discovered hit her.

_He was with another woman._

Just a day after—after they had slept together! What…how could he do so, he didn't feel any guilt; could he have not felt anything for her? But of course not, he hadn't meant to bed her, he had told her so…their being together had been an accident borne of alcohol and magic. He had no reason to be with her.

She knew all of this. Murtagh had never shown the slightest bit of attraction to her; never let slip the tiniest hint of wanting a relationship with her. She couldn't forget of how he had treated her in the beginning…or how he hadn't said anything about _them_ this morning, after they had woken and discovered…

Illera slowly began to feel furious with herself; why was it that she had to believe that something could occur between her and Murtagh? Why did she care that he was with other women, when she could not allow herself to feel anything for him?

But was it so unreasonable to hope for simple friendship? And even if they were friends; Murtagh bedding another woman so soon after they had shared a bed—

Illera suddenly punched her mattress, blowing out a long breath. He didn't have any reason to feel guilty for doing what he was doing; he was at perfect liberty to enjoy himself. He was allowed to do whatever he wished; to bed whoever he wanted.

So why did her heart feel so troubled? Why was it that her head filled with thoughts of him, until she could not sleep?

And why was it that this information hurt her so much?

…

Illera was jerked from sleep by a noise somewhere far off in the castle; a dull _bang._ After she decided it was not anything to worry about, however, her mind had awakened and there was no way to fall back to sleep.

_**Little one, you should sleep. There will be more to do in the morning,**_Amira had woken when she felt her Rider's mind stir.

_Mm,_ Illera answered. _I cannot sleep. You should, though._

_**I see what is in your mind; Illera, do not forget we are meant to be one and the same. Do not let it trouble you.**_

_I hadn't planned on it. Though how he—_Illera cut her own thought off angrily, furious with herself for allowing it to infuriate her.

Amira's tone gentled. _**Put it out of your mind. We will leave soon.**_

What was she more afraid of? Facing her own feelings about Murtagh, or leaving him?

…

She hardly noticed the morning light steal into her room.

Just as quickly as the first rays touched her features, however, she dressed quickly, as if suddenly reminded of a plan long agreed upon, and left her room.

The kitchens had just opened, and the head chef jumped a foot in the air when she asked for a small breakfast.

"Certainly," he had nodded quickly, bustling off to search for food to cover up his surprise. She had appeared in the doorway with little more than a shuffle of shadow.

Her breakfast was silent; absently, she chewed bread and cheese as she saw Amira rip off a hunk of meat off the deer that she had hunted the day before.

After she'd eaten, she murmured a word in the Ancient Language; the plate cleared itself of any crumbs, and she handed it back to the chef.

"Thank you," she said, and disappeared back up through the halls and into her room.

Some minutes later, someone knocked upon her door, interrupting one of her languorous readings of gramarye. Impatiently, she tossed the work aside, going to answer the door.

Murtagh stood there, looking suitably distracted and sleep deprived.

"Brace yourself," was all he said as he spun on his heel and left.

"For what?" she followed him, but he did not respond. They made their way to the throne room, and she tensed. Two black-robed guards—the king's personal guard—opened the massive doors as they entered.

Galbatorix lounged on his throne, waiting for them.

"So," he said. "Rider Illera, I know that you have been fighting with a sword that Murtagh has helped you find from the armory."

"Yes your Majesty," she said.

"Yet I wish to watch you spar; and this will not be a fair fight without a Rider's blade of your own. So! You both shall come into the treasury, and you, Rider Illera, shall find a blade worthy of a Rider."

Illera shot a brief, confused glance at Murtagh—he did not look at her—before acquiescing, following the king and two black robed guards into the treasure room.

It was in another room off to the side that Galbatorix opened, and Illera gasped.

Hundreds of swords.

Jewel-like, their scabbards shone as light played off the brilliant gems set into their hilts. They were mounted on the wall; an entire room full of swords and only swords; there were so many that many were mounted only centimeters apart from each other.

"Of course, they are all sorted. In the order they were recovered," Galbatorix smiled, and she caught sight of the insanity lurking just within. "From their worthless previous owners. Of course, Illera, we must find a blade for you. Your current one is straight; would you prefer a curved one?"

Illera shook her head. "No. I would not be used to it. And the hilt cannot be too long; my hands are not so large."

"No, no," Galbatorix murmured. "And you are not as tall as Murtagh is, so…let me see." He plucked several swords off their hangings, setting them on a table in the center of the room. There was a brilliant turquoise, a deep rose pink, a brown color—that Amira instantly informed Illera that if she chose it, Amira would personally drop it over the Hadarac Desert—Illera was shocked by the rainbow of hues and shades in the room, and Galbatorix began using magic to ease swords from the very tallest portions of the room.

"Begin to try them; Murtagh will help you," Galbatorix said impatiently.

Illera instantly put aside a silver sword, the brown Amira detested and an orange colored sword; they were too heavy for her anyways.

As Galbatorix began to pile many tens of swords upon the table, however, she hesitated after she found several more swords to be too short. Perhaps searching for a color would be quicker.

_**Swords were made to match dragons. I cannot have been the only dragon of this color; search for a purple blade, then, before you turn to others.**_

Illera acknowledged her dragon's wisdom, then felt sickened by the dozen purple blades she had sorted out.

_So many dragon deaths, Amira…and now, there are only four left._

_**Damning it may be; yet now, you must find a sword. And you must spar.**_

Illera tried many of the purple swords; some did not fit her hand well, some were too broad for her body. She had set aside a lilac sword named Hljödhr Dauthr—silent death—and a plum one as well, until she uncovered a brilliantly royal purple scabbard; she unsheathed the blade to find a sword whose shading was so close to Amira's shoulder scales that she doubted they were a hue off.

_This must be it._

She tried to force back her excitement, but the blade slipped easily off it's scabbard as if eager to join another master. The black glyph on the hilt read: Kveykva; lightning; an inscription read: _Wielder of the fatal flame._

Illera applied a block to the edge of the sword, and spun about in the main treasure room to meet Murtagh—but her blade overhead was blocked by the brilliant scarlet of Zar'roc.

A smile curved her lips and Kveykva whistled through the air, leaping to life once more.

…

**it's been some time, but I have not forgotten about this fiction. It will continue! I would appreciate your thoughts! Happy New Year everyone!**


	6. Chapter 6

Galbatorix reappeared beside the throne room, where Murtagh and Illera waited. "Go on," he commanded, and they began to block their blades.

"Take off the block; I will have servants fetch your armor Murtagh. Come, Illera, you need armor to best fit a Rider. Most of this armor is second hand, but I believe you may yet find armor here. Most is of elvish make. Murtagh will aid you to find a proper fit."

Murtagh brought her to another room beside the treasury, full of gleaming armor of all sizes, colors, designs, sorted by an intricate system. Beside each set of armor, there was a plaque with the Rider's name, race, rank, the date and place where they were killed and the name and color of their dragon. It was sickening to see so much information about the dead.

Murtagh made for the elven-made section, and Illera followed, recoiling when she realized the myriad amount of armor. Murtagh glanced at her, looking her up and down before turning to pluck a set off of the wall. Almost immediately, he put it back. "That's a male's set."

"Why have you skipped over the dwarven armor?"

"Most were gifts; but in any case, there are not many sets, and so the elven-make has more variety. Elven armor is also much lighter."

Illera tried on several breastplates, before she settled on a set of bright, highly polished steel armor. It was almost perfect, except that the arms were slightly too large. Galbatorix dismissed this.

"Begin."

The two of them circled each other warily, before Illera leaped forward, Kveykva whistling through the air before Murtagh parried her strokes. He spun Zar'roc around to swipe at her head, but somehow, she ducked out of the way just in time. It was as if his sword path was painted in red above her and she only had to duck into the clear paths around it. Murtagh twisted, evading her sword, but she rammed her shoulder into his chest, unbalancing him. She pounced, Kveykva aimed at his throat. But he slashed at her wrist, forcing her to retreat as Zar'roc glanced off her bracers.

When she leaned backwards, trying to evade the blow, Murtagh was again on his feet and he swiped back at her. Illera switched positions, backing up in the treasure room, and then leaping high into the air and somersaulting over his head, landing on her feet to slam the edge of Kveykva into his armor. He grunted when her sword caught in his armor, but she wasn't as strong as he was; he simply wrenched away and Kveykva was jerked away from her.

"Must we continue?" Murtagh asked Galbatorix emotionlessly.

"Yes. I am interested in what will occur."

Illera was sweating, her armor felt heavy and stifling, but she knew she was still faster than he was. So she dove right underneath the two swords, standing quickly to stand face to face with him. Quickly, she reached for her sword, but he slammed the pommel of Zar'roc into her helmet.

The blow only glanced off the helm, though, because she whipped around. She rammed her body into his, pushing him off his feet and plucking Kveykva out of his left hand.

"Rest," Galbatorix commanded, watching Murtagh on his knees and Illera lean heavily to one side.

"I wanted you to draw blood." Galbatorix's voice was dispassionate. "But go. You may rest. Return to me at dinner."

The two Riders bowed stiffly before leaving. As they neared their rooms, Murtagh turned to her and asked huskily, "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she said, taking several shallow breaths.

"Come in," he said, almost impatiently. "I can help you."

Illera was about to refuse when he accidentally brushed against her shoulder, and she jerked away from him. He noticed her movement, a tiny frown creasing his features.

"_Tauthr,"_ he said, and she had no choice but to follow him into his room. She'd removed her helmet, and Murtagh pulled off his own breastplate and chain mail.

"_Waise heil,"_ he murmured, running his hand down her shoulder. "Where else does it hurt?" he whispered.

She pointed to other areas on her body, stripping off her own armor.

"Come here," he said quietly.

Illera glanced at him, moving closer so he could heal her, and he did. "Thank you. Are you hurt?"

He shrugged, rotating his arm stiffly. "I'm alright."

Illera uncovered his right shoulder with quick, sure movements, dropping the armor as she went, frowning when she saw the angry red skin.

"_Waise heil_," she murmured, feeling the muscle ease back into place. "Here."

Murtagh glanced at her, but she ducked her head and collected her armor.

"Thank you," she said formally.

A small frown shadowed his face, and he caught her arm.

"Are you—are you hungry? Thirsty?" he asked.

She looked up at him, a small smile on her lips. "You are too kind, but no. I must rest now. Until later," she said, pulling away lightly.

"Wait—" Murtagh blurted out, the words leaving his lips before his mind found any reasons to speak.

She turned back to him. "Yes?"

"I-I'd like to dine with you, later."

She shrugged. "Fine," she said, and then smiled at him. "From your expression I'd thought you were going to ask some terrible thing. It is so hard to ask for a meal together, my lord?" she teased him before disappearing through his door.

Murtagh released the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Illera stood on the edge of the castle, testing the roof-top stone with the edge of her boot.

_**Are you sure?**_ Amira asked her, hovering from above. _**Is there no other way?**_

_Maybe,_ Illera answered, _but this is a good option._

_**Fine. I will watch from above.**_

Illera licked her lips, looking down the several stories to ground level, and jumped.

The air whistled past her, and she was dropping much faster than she had thought she would. Falling, falling—she drew breath as she neared ground level when suddenly she was pulled out of the air as something slammed into her side. She remained airborne for a few moments before some invisible force set her on the ground.

_**Illera! What—**_

Illera landed with a thud, and before she could respond, Murtagh somersaulted out of the air and landed on his feet.

"What were you doing?" he demanded, face black in his fury. "Were you trying to kill yourself?  
>She flinched at the pitch of his voice. "What? Of course not," she attempted to defend herself. "I just wanted to see how it felt. In danger, I mean. You know I've never felt it genuinely; I wanted to see if I could react in the face of it. Do not worry, I had already chosen which words I would have used."<p>

"How can you expect me not to worry when I find you hurling yourself off the castle?"

"I am a Rider, why is this more dangerous than anything else I will face?"

"Here I can protect you," he hissed.

"Which you cannot elsewhere, despite your power," she answered. "Thank you, but I must learn this, and this you know in your heart."

He blew out his breath, whipping his head around when he heard several thuds; Amira landed beside them.

"You are good to care," she said quietly, laying a hand on his shoulder for a brief moment.  
>"Are we still having dinner together?" she asked, tilting her head.<p>

"Yes," he said, losing much of his bad temper. "For I have to keep an eye on you," he said wryly.

She smiled. "I thought that I was the one who has to keep an eye on _you._" She vaulted onto Amira's back, dark hair flying back behind her, and with a rush of wings, they were gone.

Illera ran the linen cloth over her hair, wringing out the water. She spoke a word, and the remaining water released into the atmosphere, leaving her hair long, straight and smooth. She picked through the selection of dresses and tunics that grew in number each day and she blew out a breath.

_Which should I wear?_

Amira snorted. _**How would I know, little one? Humans…you do not have one universal coat and much change frequently.**_

_I know. It is an annoyance we cannot help._

Finally she chose a forest green material, one that felt buttery soft against her skin; a sleeveless tunic, and she picked a pair of creamy black leggings. As she looked in the mirror, she added a silver necklace, nervously fiddled with her hair and pushed a headband onto her forehead.

There was a knock on her door, and she rushed to answer it.

Murtagh was there, hair still slightly damp from a bath, and dressed in dark blue.

"Hello," she said, smiling at him tentatively.

"Hello," his voice was low, and she smiled again.

"Dinner?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered. "I've an idea. Come with Amira, follow Thorn and I."

The surprise spread across her face.

"A picnic, good sir?"

He smirked at her, giving her a slow wink.

"I must say I'm surprised," she said as they began to make their way to the roof.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why would you be? Do you find it strange that I can plan things?"

Illera looked bewildered for a split second before she caught the playful glint in his eyes, and she laughed. "Then it is your own fault, for comporting yourself so that I would be surprised."

He laughed as they came up on the roof. "Come on. Follow me." He stepped off of the roof, landing upon Thorn's saddle easily.

Illera asked Amira: _Ready?_

_**Leap and I will catch you.**_

Illera took a running start, leaping off the roof and landing on the saddle on Amira's back.

_How is it that you are already wearing a saddle?_

Amira's amusement seeped across their link before she chased after Thorn, and, a short while later, landed at the same lake they had been to before.

Murtagh leaped off, coming beside Amira so he could steady Illera as she slid off of her dragon.

"Come on," he said, and she followed him to the lakeshore.

He pulled a basket off of Thorn, and he smiled at her. "The kingdom's finest," he said.

They ate bread and cheese and simple beef stew, topped off with effervescent champagne.

The dragons had gone to hunt, and so it was just the two of them on the lakeshore.

"I like this," she said suddenly, leaning against his shoulder.

"What?" he asked.

"Staying out of the castle."

He nodded. "Before you became a Rider—" he stopped. "He does not punish me now because I must train you. But you have seen what sort of things he would do. I cannot fly far from Uru'baen, save for assignments."

She nodded. "I know."

"Illera, you know you must leave, and leave soon. He—you have pledged yourself to him, but the bonds do not work. I may know why, but…it is important for you to depart before he realizes."

"I know," she said quietly.

"So why have you not left?" he asked.

She hesitated, and turned away from him. "I just…"

"The next opportunity," he said. "Please promise me."

"Why do you want me to leave so badly?" she asked, teasingly, but he recognized the question in her voice.

"What if we fail? What if something unplanned occurs? What if—he can hurt you too, Illera, though you have been successful politically at evading his wrath, what if we fail? Then I cannot protect you, however much I would like to. Even if I could take all of the hurt for you, he would hurt you to hurt me."

"Why would him hurting me hurt you?" her voice was soft.

She turned to look at him, the alcohol giving her the courage to ask him.

He met her eyes head on. "You know why. No one else would come close to understanding...anything."

Amira and Thorn suddenly caused the wind to buffet them harshly, until he spoke a few words and the air around them stilled.

She was still sitting beside him, leaning against him and he noticed the goosebumps on her arms.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, and he removed his red cloak, fastening it around her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Murtagh rubbed her arms lightly for her, and Thorn breathed flame upon a few of the rocks on the shore until they warmed.

"Thank you," she said. "Amira is not yet mature enough for such action."

"No. Not yet. And though she is agile and can perform many tricks as needed, she cannot yet fly long distance."

"She needs to practice."

"I know," she said, turning to look him in the eye.

He set his hand down on her thigh casually; they were not even four inches away from each other.

"Murtagh," she whispered, and his eyes jerked up to hers; gods her eyes were so dark.

"Illera," his voice was like velvet pouring down her ears; his hands slid up her back and she lowered her chin, ducking away from him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," she murmured, leaning closer to him again. Her dark hair brushed past behind his neck and shoulder softly, and he held his breath. She didn't say anything, but instinctively, slowly, she leaned into him, catching his lips gently. He deepened the contact eagerly, and she pushed him onto his back, setting her calves on either side of his abdomen. Murtagh shivered, wrapping his arms around her waist and Illera let out a soft sigh.

But suddenly, she pulled away.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Illera didn't speak, but Amira winged over and settled upon the earth beside them.

"I'm sorry," she said, mortified. "I shouldn't—"

"No, don't be sorry," he said softly.

"I shouldn't—we shouldn't—"

"Why not?" he asked.

"I mean, it's like the night of the ball all over again, and you don't—" she stopped.

"I don't what, Illera?"

"You don't…think of me like that. You don't want me."

He blew out a breath. "Why do you think so?"

Illera laughed, almost bitterly. "The day after that night—I was going to retrieve something from your room, but you were…busy."

Murtagh sighed, letting his hands drop onto her thighs. "It wasn't anything against you, Illera. Just—"

"Do you understand why I cannot do this?" she asked him softly.

"Is there no other reason? Just that you believe that I only want your body?" he asked.

She was looking at him; their eyes meeting and neither of them could break the contact.

"That is a dangerous question," she said quietly. "Especially in these times."

"Answer it."

"Because it is too dangerous! We cannot. Galbatorix would—and besides, I must leave anyway, how can you ask me to begin anything with you when our futures are so dangerous and uncertain?"

"I know that to ask anything from you would be presumptuous of me," he said softly, as he sat up. "But…know that you are the only one who can understand me, or our situation, or…all of it."

"Then why would—why would you try to jeopardize our relationship when you could get what you want from any woman, like you did before?"

Murtagh blew out a breath. "I—"

"I shouldn't ask you this," she said softly, pulling away from him and getting to her feet. "Illera, I—"

"It's late, and I should return to the castle. Until tomorrow," she said, racing over to Amira.

"Illera—wait—"

In a few heartbeats, as he leaped to his feet, both Rider and dragon were gone.

_Amira, what should we do?_

_**Illera, he wants more out of you than you should be willing to give. Remember the night of the ball and the morning afterwards? Why could he not understand why you were so upset? Perhaps he truly only cares for himself and Thorn.**_

_But I…you are right, Amira, though my heart wishes for me to forgive him and…Amira, I think I may be in love with him._

_**You have never known another human for so long. It is understandable. But you know also the dangers and risks you and I face, as both a Rider and a Rider of the Empire. And you know that he cannot escape as we can still.**_

_Why does he—I cannot commit to anything because we need to escape to the Varden. And worse yet…he only wants something physical; something I am not willing to give and—gods, Amira, I might love him._

_**On this I cannot give words of advice. Only know that which is inevitable creeps closer to us each day. Illera, you must be ready—have your belongings set so that we could leave at a moment's notice.**_

_I will. I found a spell…that can cause any object to become smaller than it actually is. This is how I can move most of my belongings to my knapsack._

Illera felt Amira jerk to attention. _**Thorn has returned.**_

_I cannot face Murtagh right now._

_**He is certain to come to find you. Leap out of your window; I am here now.**_

Illera heard footsteps on the staircase near their suites, and took her knapsack—inside of which included several books—and opened the window. She climbed out of it, holding onto natural stone ledges and closed the window before dropping onto Amira.

_**Are you content to simply fly?**_

_Yes. It would make us harder to find anyway._

_**You are still wearing his cloak. The color tends to draw attention.**_

Illera had forgotten his cloak. _It matters not. Fly._

Amira accelerated, rising upwards to skim the clouds, and as Illera inhaled, she caught the wisp of scent that floated her way from his cloak.

It was warm, smelled smoky, draconic and of pure elemental male.

She wished that he could love her, like she was certain she loved him.

_Maybe we truly should leave soon. Very soon._

_**Illera, we cannot speed our plans just because of what happened tonight! We are not ready. I am not ready, and Murtagh must yet help us more. Besides…you know in your heart that you would rather leave on good terms with him.**_

_How can I face him, Amira?_

_**See how he addresses you first. Respond in the same, polite manner.**_

_Fine._

_**Do not worry yet. Wait until the morrow. He will not bother you when you return to your room.**_

The two of them flew leisurely across Uru'baen for several hours they returned to the castle.

Eventually, she returned to bed. But she lay curled between the covers for a long while before she found sleep.

There were several knocks at her door, but Illera was too deeply immersed in sleep to notice; until the door flew open and slammed into the wall.

She jumped, thoroughly shaken awake from sleep as someone pounded through the sitting room and into her bedroom.

"What is it?" she asked, voice thick from sleep. "What's wrong?"

He was in high temper, until he saw that she had just woken up. He made a half-turn, murmuring a few words to shut the door before going to kneel beside the bed.

"I apologize," he said. "I didn't know that you were sleeping."

She pulled the blankets over herself more completely. "Murtagh, I'm only wearing a shift. What's wrong?"

"I wasn't sure if you were avoiding me."

"Why would I avoid you?" she asked neutrally.

He shot her a look. "Illera, please. We do not have that long together; I would rather we spend it together as friends, at least, and I hope that I have not ruined the chance for it because of a stupid thing I did."

She sighed, sitting up and cradling his cheeks with her hands. "You have not. Now, please excuse me while I dress. Oh, and your cloak is on the desk.

He nodded, fastening the cloak around himself before departing.

Illera walked over to the side of the room, where a basin full of rosewater lay, and splashed her face, inhaling tiredly.

She had not counted on this emotional toll.

It was several minutes later, as she debated what to wear, when Murtagh poked his head through the doorway.

"Why on earth are you taking so long?" he asked.

"Murtagh! I—get out!" she whipped around, startled and hotly embarrassed. She wasn't dressed yet; she couldn't let him see her so exposed. The shift was thin and flimsy.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she could hear the biting laughter in his voice as he retreated behind the wall.

"Nevermind. Choose a color," she said quickly, pulling on thick cream colored leggings.

"Red, of course."

After donning the scarlet tunic, she caught up with him.

He glanced at her, eyes lingering on how the fabric caught at her hips, before turning away. "Come. We've a lesson."

Illera was watching Murtagh subconsciously as she performed the Rimgar, copying his moves. But suddenly, as Amira gave a snicker that resonated in her head, she realized that her eyes were tracing the hard outlines of his muscles as he performed the Rimgar—he never did it with a shirt on—and that she was staring.

She tried to push him out of her mind. They were putting that night behind them; both nights. Even if they could be together, they would be separating so, so soon; it might kill her, if they were together, to be apart from him for so long, and with the both of them in such danger.

She shook her head vehemently. It wasn't going to happen. She didn't have to worry about it.

Illera didn't notice when Murtagh came out of a pose, and so she jumped when he touched her shoulder lightly.

"At ease, Illera," he gave her a look. "I was just coming to check on you."

"I'm alright," she said, returning to her two feet. "I was only thinking."

"Of what?" he asked.

She turned away from him, shrugging.

Murtagh sighed impatiently. "I know that last night was not too comfortable for either of us. Yet…"

"It isn't because of that," Illera retorted. "Can I not have thoughts of my own?"

He only looked at her, and she felt guilty for snapping at him. "I'm sorry."

"We apologize to each other too much," he said dismissively, waving a hand. "Consider it forgotten."

_We only apologize to each other because it is too awkward to do anything else. And why is he so hot and cold? He is impatient, and brutally frank, demanding…_

_**Also resilient, logical, deeply emotional and fiercely loyal.**_

_Not to me. Not for me; I have not earned his trust._

_**That is not your fault.**_

_You know why I am so frustrated. _

_**I do. And…**_

_What?_

_**There is much love in side of you, Illera, I know how much you have to give. Emotions for you run deep; hot. But I am not sure Murtagh is the right person for you to bestow this love upon. **_

_I know, I know! I just—_

_**We should not speak of this anymore; not now. Murtagh is beside you, and though you attempt to hide it, he is experienced enough to feel your distress.**_

"What's wrong?" Murtagh asked sharply. "You just—"

"Nothing," Illera said. "Just thinking."

"I would know your thoughts, for once," he said. "Just…I wish I could be your friend, at least. I wish I could help you."

Illera blew out a breath. "How can I explain it to you, when I do not understand it myself?"

"Try. I promise I will try to understand, as best I could."

_**Be completely sure that you want to confide in him…**_

_I—_

"Would you?" she mused, shutting her eyes for a brief second. "Fine then."

"Come. We can talk in my room."

She followed him back to his rooms, fiercely debating with herself what to say.

_**Tell him what you told me. That the fact of us leaving hangs over you each day. And…you could tell him how you feel about him.**_

"Alright," he said, shutting the door. "What is it?"

"The reason I keep shutting you out is because I am afraid…for when I leave. I am afraid for you, for me…for what will happen to us and our relationship."

"Well…we are all afraid. I—"

"You don't understand," she said softly. "I would be—your friend, so much more than that, everything—but I am afraid for what will become of us afterwards. And I am afraid…if I get too emotionally attached."

"So—you would like to be more…would you like to become…"

"Murtagh I—gods, I can't, I cannot…because I must leave and you know this, and I don't want us to be hurt. But I wish we could…I wish we could."

She was so distressed that Amira reached out to her, trying to calm her raw nerves, and Murtagh led her over to a recliner, seating her down and kneeling beside her.

"Illera," he said softly. "I promise I will protect you to the best of my abilities. I promise. And if you would like…I'd like to be friends. Even if we have to part. Golden days remain golden forever."

"Would you be willing to risk that emotion?" she asked softly, a smile teasing at her mouth.

Murtagh chuckled. "You know that just because I look like I don't show emotion does not mean I don't."

"Fine then," she said, smile breaking out over her features. "Friends."

They both rose, and he held out his arms.

She went to him, rather uncertainly, but still, and he held her. "Friends."


	7. Chapter 7

It was two weeks later and Murtagh and Illera were on a short hunting excursion; he wanted to show her the minds of animals while the dragons hunted elsewhere.

They had grown closer in the past two weeks.

"Reach my mind out to them?" Illera asked, turning to him, and nearly slid in the mud of the riverbank.

He reached out and pulled her out of the muck in a flash barely seconds after she had slipped.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly; he'd been forced to pull her hard against his own body.

Murtagh only smiled. "Go on."

She shut her eyes, leaning against him lightly as her mind relaxed, opening itself to the myriad of life around her. Almost fifteen minutes had gone by as she felt the bombarding consciouses before she entered the mind of a deer, observing as the fawn followed its mother on thin, gangly legs.

And afterwards, she decided to become part of a fox as it burrowed into its den…

"Illera, tell me what you have seen," Murtagh said softly.

She retracted back to herself at the speed of thought, opening her eyes. The first thing she saw were his grey eyes, staring intently at her.

"You have beautiful eyes," she blurted out.

Murtagh smiled. "Thank you, but tell me what you saw."

"I could only observe two animals in any detail in the time I spent. And if I had spent so much time observing only two animals in such a small portion of their life, how can I explain to you the entirety of the forest?"

Murtagh gave her an approving look. "You understood far more quickly than I did."

She smiled at him. "It was only logic."

"Come. The dragons have eaten their fill. We will be returning to Uru'baen."

They traipsed through the forest, through the heat, and soon she noticed Murtagh's tunic stuck to his skin, and she could see the raised line that she knew was his scar.

"You never finished telling me the story behind your scar," Illera said.

He grimaced, though she couldn't see. "In a fit of drunken rage, my father threw Zar'roc at me as I ran past. I was lucky to survive it; the healer who worked upon me had some skill."

It was a short ending to the story, but Illera knew it had to hold pain for him, and so she did not press him any further. "What happened to your mother, afterward?"

"I think soon after, she became pregnant with Eragon, and left, because she could not stand to have her second son at the mercy of Morzan as well. She would have taken me, as well, but my father had separated us to keep her under his control."

Illera nodded; now she knew the story of his life, both from him and from those in Uru'baen who had watched him grow into the man he was today.

"Enough about me," he said. "What of you?"

They had reached the dragons, and Illera took a running start, landing upon several areas of Amira's body with light feet before her final leap into the saddle.

_**Have you had a good lesson?**_

_Yes. I think it was most beneficial._

Then, she turned her head to Murtagh, touching her mind against his gently.

_Do you mind if we communicate like this?_

**Of course I don't mind, **he said, pulling himself into Thorn's saddle. **Tell me about yourself.**

Illera hesitated; even Amira did not know the full story as she would explain it, though she had seen the memories in Illera's mind.

_My family lived here, in Uru'baen. It was my father, my brother and I; my mother had died when I was young, maybe eight, of disease. My parents had run an apothecary, full of magical items and such for witches and healers. So my parents—mainly my father—knew magic. My brother was three years younger than I; he was almost to me like Shadeslayer to you, in age, I suppose. We were not too well off, but we could get by._

_But one day, two years ago, I returned to the apothecary to find my father dead inside and my brother missing. I still remember his blood…the pools that painted the floor…The guards caught the killer, a crazed man who claimed to be part of the Varden, a few days later…he had killed my father during a drunken rage. They cut off his head, but it could not bring my father back. And my brother…he was gone. _

The other three listened to her story, and she began to speak faster. _I could not run the apothecary, I did not have the magical skill my father had; I only knew some words of healing, none of the magic he knew. I had only been permitted to help heal those who wandered into our shop who needed it. And besides, after my father's death, most of his contacts refused to sell to me. So I sold the shop, save for our living quarters, and began to look for work. At first, I found one as a seamstress, but I was not fast enough at stitching. I tried to become a cook's helper, but the tavern did not want so many on its staff. I was desperate; my family's gold was dwindling as the days passed. Eventually, one of my father's old customers came to visit and discovered what had happened; she persuaded me to sell the house, and I became her helper. She was very similar to what my father had been, except that she was the purchaser for the castle. So I learned more healing, and she eventually suggested that I go to the castle to find work. The King was generous, she said, and so I came._

_That is how I lived for a year before I met you._

Murtagh was silent. **You have faced hardships too, and I am sorry for that.**

She smiled wanly, turning to glance at him. _It isn't your matter to feel sorry for,_ she said, before turning away again.

Amira comforted her Rider and Illera gave a sad smile. _It's all right. It's in the past._

They flew for hours, their dragons' steady wingbeats providing a slow rhythm into the sunrise.

…

Illera woke when Amira landed back at the castle of Uru'baen. Murtagh's expression softened when he saw her slide off of Amira unsteadily.

"You're exhausted. We've been out of Uru'baen for a week. Go and get some rest."

Illera yawned, wanting to protest, but Amira nudged her with her nose.

_**Go on, little one. I will wake you when Murtagh wants to continue training.**_

So Murtagh, after accompanying her to her suite, departed to report back to Galbatorix alone.

He knocked upon the throne room and entered. "Your Majesty," he knelt. "We have returned."

"And where is Illera?" Galbatorix demanded.

"I told her to rest, that I could give our report by myself."

"Go on, then."

"We scouted the towns, as you commanded. There has not been much disturbance. We did not find many signs of aiding the Varden. They were all simple farmers."

Galbatorix snorted. "Fine. Fine, if the townsmen are not aiding the Varden, we must go to the root of the problem. You and Illera will go and scout the Varden tomorrow, under the cover of night. She has progressed far enough, hasn't she? You will spend two days there after you arrive, and return. I will have you both conduct a raid—that will last a fortnight—afterwards. I will send only you two."

"As you wish, sire."

"Leave, then, tell Illera what my orders are."

Murtagh left, unconsciously picking up speed as he went. He was starting to wonder for her safety, and he realized that he also wanted her to be happy.

_She might not have fallen asleep yet_, he thought, entering her quarters silently.

But she called out—"Murtagh?"

"I thought I told you to rest," he said, entering her bedroom. "How did you hear me?" he asked.

"You sucked in a breath when squeezing through the door," she smiled softly, dressed in her sleeping shirt.

He rolled his eyes; Galbatorix had given her eagle eyes and the hearing of a fox, more powerful than even ordinary elves…and his abilities, as well.

He was stronger than her though; she had only been given the strength of a normal elf.

"I couldn't fall asleep. But why are you here? Not that I don't want to see you," she flashed him a quick smile.

"I've the details of our assignments," he said. "One tomorrow, and another afterwards. They'll take place over the course of about a month. It will be time."

Her gaze sharpened, and she nodded. "I believe we can."

"Alright," he said softly.

"Aren't having regrets now, are we?" she teased lightly.

He shook his head, a small smile returning to his face. "No. It's too dangerous here."

She smiled too, her first in a long while. "Keep saying that; maybe it will convince people that that is the only reason why you want me to leave."

He chuckled. "It _is_ the only reason why I want you to leave."

Illera smiled, resting a hand on his shoulder before sitting down on her bed.

"Have you anything else planned for tonight?" she asked.

"Maybe later, when you've rested," he said.

Illera smiled. "I'm not that tired now."

"There is a play being performed in the Great Hall later. Would you like to accompany me? So the nobles know nothing has befallen us," he added hastily.

"I would like that," she said. "What is it about?"

"Oh, it is about our mighty Galbatorix defeating the former King to create the Empire today," he said dismissively. "I suppose it will look better if we attend."

She smiled. "Alright. Wake me when you wish to go."

…

They sat through the play, sitting together and carrying on a conversation in their minds the whole while.

When it was over, they disappeared together out of the Hall.

"That was enjoyable," she said, with only a touch of sarcasm. While it gave a skewed view of their King's ascent to power, the acting had been excellent.

He nodded. "Come on. We must prepare for our next journey."

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To scout the Varden," he answered as they made their way towards the kitchens.

"Ah," she said. "How long is the journey?"

"By dragonback, a week at most. We are to scout the dwarven mountains that the Varden use as a stronghold."

"Ah. How long are we to scout?"

"Two days. After that, we will return, recover, and go to conduct a raid on them."

Illera nodded as they entered the kitchens.

"Do you have what I asked for?" Murtagh asked the head chef.

"Certainly, sir," the chef grabbed a large canvas sack and gave it to Murtagh. "Would you like anything else?"

"No, we are fine. Thank you," Illera said, giving the chef a quick smile before following Murtagh out and back to their quarters.

"Mm. Ale, mead, jerky. Bread, dried fruit. This will be fun," he made a face.

She laughed. "It will be an adventure. When do we depart?"

"Lord, Illera, you have more questions than an apprentice. We will leave tomorrow, after dinner."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Speaking of which, why do you not have a squire? Isn't that what knights and lords have?"

"Of which I am neither," he gave her a look.

She shrugged. "A Rider outranks both a knight and a lord."

"But not all who are deserving to become a lord's apprentice can perform magic," he pointed out. "Besides, Riders are mysterious, and we do not like to give up secrets."

She nodded.

"Come, let us go fly," he said suddenly.

"Right now?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes," Murtagh answered. "Unless, of course, you are not comfortable with it."

She wasn't going to let him get the best of her, and so shook off his goading. "I was wondering if you were too tired to do much more than take your leave and rest," she said seriously, a tiny sparkle in her eye.

He cracked a smile. "You can only hope."

So they made their way to the rooftop, and Amira swooped by first, allowing Illera to leap into the saddle. A few moments later, Murtagh was astride Thorn and they were gliding above Uru'baen.

**I know how you dislike being in the castle,** he said as he touched her mind.

_That is only because I feel that Galbatorix is always watching. When he is occupied it is not so bad._

Amira brushed her mind, and she temporarily withdrew from her connection with Murtagh.

_**Be careful,**_ her dragon whispered.

_I cannot help being frank with him, I feel it is just natural…_

_**Even so, he must be noticing by now your gentleness towards him.**_

_Gentleness? Amira, I broke his arm the other day during a spar!_

_**Amour. I suppose you will be one for love bites.**_

Illera was incredulous and laughed at her dragon's dry humor.

**What is so funny?** Murtagh reached to her mind again, and she mentally shrugged.

_Amira made a joke._

He sent her an understanding feeling. **Would you like to go sit beside the lake again?**

_**Why not?**_Amira murmured. _**Thorn, I am feeling slightly famished. Would you like to come with me to hunt?**_

Thorn answered, _**Of course. When does a male dragon cease to hunger?**_

_Never, especially a male dragon bonded to Murtagh,_ Illera laughed silently.

Murtagh rolled his eyes, and then stood in the saddle. They were losing altitude quickly, and in a few seconds, the dragons would be able to land.

_What are you doing?_ Illera asked.

**Landing. Unless you are too afraid to follow?** Murtagh set her the challenge, and, untangling himself from the straps of the saddle, jumped off of Thorn, somersaulting to the ground.

_**Illera, do not be foolish and do this simply because he sets you this challenge,**_ Amira rolled her eyes. _**At least let me descend a few more meters.**_

_Fine, but I will leap. You know why he teases me; he wishes to see if I am comfortable pushing boundaries._

_**Now you may go.**_

Illera wriggled her legs out of her own saddle's straps, and jumped, wind whistling through her ears. She somersaulted as well, and landed on two feet, exhilarated by the rushing wind and the adrenaline of the jump. Her smile was full of excitement, wild happiness.

Murtagh had a small smile on his face as he steadied her, before they sat along the lakeshore.

She lay on her stomach beside him as he stretched his legs out, leaning backwards, palms braced against the ground. Her elbows propped up her upper body as she looked at him.

"Why did you leave Uru'baen…and return?" she asked.

He blew out a breath. "It's complicated. Do you mind if I show you, instead? I can narrate."

"Go on," she said.

He touched her mind, and suddenly she was plunging through the barrage of memories—a younger Murtagh, pledging himself to the mesmerizing Galbatorix, then his inane orders, Murtagh and his mentor Tornac fighting their way out of Uru'baen, Tornac's death, Murtagh's riding until he found Eragon, Brom's death, the flight to the Varden…everything.

Illera had shut her eyes, whirling through everything. His voice was resonating in her head, talking her through each event in a monologue; as if it were only observations of some tedious study.

It felt like an age, and she felt each emotion vividly; his pain at losing Tornac, fury when he realized he must go to the Varden, despair when he was returned to Uru'baen…

She did not speak for some time afterward.

"I did not mean to overwhelm you," he said softly. "Only to make you understand."

"I am sorry that you have had to suffer so much," she said, opening her eyes and withdrawing from their mental connection. _I wish I could take away all your pain._ There was something else in his memories that hurt her though—the way he was obviously taken with the Varden's leader Nasuada. He had told her as the memory rushed past that she had had extraordinary regal bearing, was intelligent, and had been delightful conversation…Her smile that had grown increasingly smaller as the memories passed now slid completely off of her face.

_**It matters not, Illera, she is not the one here with him right now,**_ Amira's voice was sharp. _**You must be careful. He can sense your emotions better than you think.**_

_God's above Amira, why is it that this would happen? Why, when I think it is obvious what I feel for him, would he show me that memory…unless he wanted me to back away from him?_

Her features were carefully blank even as this storm waged in her mind.

_**Be as that may be, you are a Rider. Nasuada is what she is, yet, she could not hope to compare with you. You yourself are possessed with striking looks, for even though dragons cannot tell many two-legs apart, you are different looking enough for dragons to differentiate between you and other two-leg females. You are a Rider, and learned in your skills as you are; one of the most powerful beings on this continent. And I believe you to have one of the most pleasing demeanors I have ever encountered—strength, intelligence, pride, a willingness to learn your craft, but you also have compassion….Illera, you must learn your own self worth, for why would I have hatched for you?**_

_Thank you, Amira, but his feelings on Nasuada still hurt me._

_**If he truly was infatuated with her, then why would he allow himself to kiss you that night on the lakeshore? Why would he admit to wanting you?**_

_Because he is male and shares those physical urges? _Illera's thoughts were in despair, her hurt searing Amira even as her dragon shielded her emotions from Murtagh.

_**If that is the only reason why he wanted you, if he is still so taken with Nasuada, then he is a fool and completely undeserving of you.**_

_Oh Amira, I love you and your words, but my heart still wishes for him to be mine forevermore._

"Illera?" Murtagh asked. "You have not answered my question."

"I apologize," she said, her formality taking him aback. "Could you repeat it once more?"

He studied her; her eyes were like pools of onyx, yielding no information. "I asked you if you were all right."

Her lips parted in the beginnings of a smile—but still, something looked off about it. It was her eyes—there was something derisive there, an emotion that completely took him by surprise. She had never had such an emotion cross her features before; the strongest emotion that he had seen had been clear anger; no subversive, mocking feeling.

"I am fine," she said, rolling to her feet to brush the sand off of her clothing. She jumped lightly onto a few rocks protruding out of the water, and faced the lake, her back to him.

"What is wrong?" Murtagh asked, rising and going to stand beside her.

"What? Nothing," she said distantly, picking up a smooth rock and skipping it into the lake. It hopped in the water once, twice before it ceased.

Murtagh was silent. "You know that you can trust me, that I will listen and attempt to aid you as well."

_It is too bad that I do not trust you with my heart, especially not now._

"Why do you not trust me?" he asked, voice both pleading and slightly angry.

She did not answer him once again, too buried in her own thoughts, and Murtagh resolved to stand there beside her until she would speak to him.

Illera suddenly turned, pulling off her boots and tossing them to the shore. She also tossed her sword belt beside her boots. Murtagh had a split second to wonder what she was going to do when she pushed off of the rock with her supernatural strength, soaring close to the middle of the lake and diving into the clear water.

He wondered what the hell had gotten into her when she surfaced, making a quick motion with her head so that her long hair flipped, flying from in front of her face to slick against her back.

"Are you too afraid to follow?" she asked—but gone was her gentle teasing from earlier and what was left was the hard edge of her challenge.

He narrowed his eyes, but stripped off his boots and sword belt as well, tossing them beside hers, and dove into the lake.

"Why are you—" he stopped; she ducked underwater, kicking out to swim strongly towards shore.

He was frustrated by her lack of response to him, and utterly bewildered, but followed.

She was already on the sand, dry and pulling on her leather boots and belting her sword back onto her waist by the time he reached her.

Murtagh did not speak as he used magic to dry himself, and redressed himself silently, telling himself not to speak until she spoke.

But Illera was silent, and when he tried to brush against her mind to divine some sort of emotion, her mind was armored and he was pushed away violently.

"Illera, what is it," he asked impatiently. "What have I done?"

Here, she thought miserably to herself; _Gods he does not even know why I'm hurt, it is not even truly his fault…I should not be angry with him, but I am._

"I am tired," she said, even though she was wide awake. "When Amira returns, I think I shall retire."

He narrowed his eyes again. "It must be more than that."

She sighed impatiently. "It isn't."

"You are lying to me, and not very well," he said.

Illera shrugged, and Amira circled overhead. "Ask me how much I care."

He was shocked by her flat words so that when Amira descended and Illera scrambled up her dragon, he did not follow.

"Goodnight," she said, and Rider and Dragon disappeared, leaving him with the shambles of a promising night.

When Illera returned to the castle, she went to the armory, black fury evident in her movements. She found one of the King's best swordsmen, and demanded a spar.

He was a magician and also very talented fighter, but the King himself had given her strength beyond mere humans.

She allowed herself no armor and let him put his on, and even put a block on her blade but as they fought, she put all of her rage and hurt and fury into every blow, smashing his defenses and knocking his sword away easily.

"I apologize," she said stiffly, murmuring a few words to fix his armor and heal his broken arm.

"You need spar with someone more talented than we have here," the swordsman said.

"She can spar with me," someone said from behind her.

She already knew it was Murtagh, and could not wait for him to take his place in front of her.

She waited as he put the block on his blade, and they stood, facing each other, each face carefully blank.

Then, they began.

His mind rammed into hers and she could only thank a god—any god—for her emotions that allowed her to hold him off. His sword strokes were long, powerful, as he slashed at her, and she parried, knocking Zar'roc wide. She aimed a stroke at him with Kveykva, and after he caught the stroke on the flat of Zar'roc, she pounced, ignoring his continued assault on her mind, and smashed Kveykva into his blade with astonishing strength. He almost dropped Zar'roc, but recovered enough to dance backwards out of her reach.

She went on the offensive, slicing and smashing Kveykva so that Murtagh was forced to retreat—she'd become a whirlwind of emotion and blade, and suddenly Zar'roc was ripped from his hand when she twisted Kveykva against the flat of his blade, and the point of her sword was against his throat.

"Yield," she said, voice cold and soft.

He was shocked at her ability, and she lowered her sword, sheathing Kveykva and turning on her heel, disappearing into the castle.

…

Illera returned to her rooms, locking the doors securely with the physical lock and magical means as she changed into her shift.

She didn't realize she was shaking as she curled up on her bed.

_**Little one,**_Amira murmured.

_Why do I make myself miserable, Amira?_ Illera blew out a breath. _Why do I still care for him?_

Amira pressed comfort into her Rider's mind. _**It does not mean that he loves her.**_

_What he feels towards her was shown when he let me see those memories…and it is more than what he feels for me. Damn it, Amira! I just…_ she could not speak.

_**If he does not love you then you can find better in this life.**_

_What if I still want him?_ Illera's heart seared with hurt, with pain, and the growing acceptance of the realization that she was not good enough.

_**You know that I cannot offer you any more advice beyond that which I have already given. Dragons do not play this sort of game, and I cannot ask Thorn too much of what his Rider feels…**_

_No. Do not. I would not have you ruin your friendship with Thorn for my sake. Besides…he is a noble creature and I would not have his opinion of me changed._

_**Thorn is much less complicated than Murtagh.**_

_I have sensed your fondness for him grow,_ Illera seized upon the change of subject.

Amira sniffed. _**Thorn is a good tutor, and a better friend.**_

_And nothing more? You know you cannot hide anything from me, and your hunting trips together have been growing long,_ Illera teased.

Amira snorted. _**Your emotions are getting the better of you, Illera, for you see that which you wish to see. **_

_And you are in denial,_ Illera smiled, forgetting her complicated situation with Murtagh for the moment.

_**It is true that Thorn is good to me, yet that is all,**_ Amira growled.

Illera shut her eyes, a soft smile lingering on her lips. _As you say._

_**Good night, little one.**_

…

The next morning, Illera did not wake until near noon. The sun was up before she began to study her Elvish texts; a task she did not complete until past noon-day meal. It was like so that she avoided many as she made her way to the kitchens to finally eat lunch, two hours after noon.

She asked for whatever they had; cheese and bread and stew, and she ate it hungrily; working with magic had sharpened her hunger.

She cleaned the silverware with a few words of magic before handing it back to one of the chefs, departing to the library.

There were myriad texts on magic, and she studied scrolls of true names until the sun began to set.

It was after, at the King's table where she saw Murtagh for the first time that day. But she did not look at him, save until she had to take her place beside him. The lords and ladies were eager to gain her favor, so she had woven between them, speaking easy, charming words to them before taking her seat.

She was wearing a long dress of deep blue; it was belted at her waist and looked fluid, like silk. But it wasn't the dress that caught his eye; it was the way it made her skin look pale, like gold-dusted porcelain.

And her hair was put up with golden hair picks, so that her shoulders and arms were shown off, and her lips were strawberry pink; why was it that he was only just now noticing?

"Illera," he tried, and she turned to him.

But her dark eyes were closed to him, empty of the wide-eyed wonder that had exemplified her early days as a Rider.

_What did I do?_ He wondered.

Thorn gave a mental shrug. _**I do not know the ways of humans, and Amira does not care to explain her Rider to me. Besides…she is busy speaking to Illera.**_

_Everything was fine yesterday, before she asked to see my memories. Did they discomfit her? She is not that squeamish…_

_**Ask her when we depart for the Varden.**_

Aloud, Murtagh asked her, "Have you prepared for our journey yet?"

"Yes," she said, cutting up a steak and stabbing her fork into a mushroom.

He waited for her to elaborate, before realizing she would not.

Murtagh sat through the rest of dinner, and afterwards, he let her leave to her quarters before him. She obviously was angry with him; but why?

He met her outside of the castle with their belongings. She was wearing a thick green tunic, with black leggings that covered up all of the lovely skin she had shown at dinner.

"Are you ready?" he asked; the question was unneeded, because he could see Amira's saddlebags were full.

She turned to him, her visage obscured by the brilliant purple hooded cloak that she wore. "Yes," she said.

"Then let us be off."

They mounted their dragons, and flew into the night.


	8. Chapter 8

When they stopped for the night in a copse of trees, Illera had calmed down for the most part. But she was still unsure of how to talk to Murtagh now, especially after her brazen passive aggressiveness earlier.

_**You should apologize.**_

_But how? I cannot apologize to him for how I felt. Nor can I explain why I was angry without seeming like…_

_**You had no grounds for being so upset; you know this. An apology will right the state between the two of you.**_

_Fine._

She turned to Murtagh, unsure of how to exactly word it.

"Murtagh," she said slowly. "I am sorry for my behaviour earlier. I was irritable and you did not deserve that treatment."

He narrowed his eyes, but nodded. "Come. We must eat," he said, changing the subject and pulling out bread and cheese."

Illera wanted to ask him many things, but knew that they could be seen and heard by Galbatorix, so she held her tongue.

But she couldn't help reaching out to his mind. _How do you know that when I leave for the Varden, I will be received in a friendly manner?_

**I do not. However, I will do my best to ensure so.**

_How?_

**I will write letters. And I will swear to Eragon that you will aid the Varden. ****Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal.**

_You risk much for me._

**You have the opportunity to escape. Your pledge to Galbatorix did not work…I believe because you may have pronounced some word wrong or whatnot. Also, he has not been able to find your true name yet…thus we need to hurry.**

_He will punish you greatly when I leave._

**I will bear it if you are able to escape, and aid the Varden. Your chances of defeating Galbatorix are much greater then…and so you will be able to release me.**

_I swear to you that I will. __Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal._

**We need to prepare your belongings for the next trip. It will take place in a few days. You will need to take the egg, and a sword for the next Rider.**

_How should I choose a sword if I do not know what kind of fighting style the next Rider will have?_

**You will have to choose a sword that is versatile. Also, it must match the egg exactly…that will be the color the dragon shall be. I have a sword in mind…Eitrum. Similar to Zar'roc and yours…longer in the hilt, straight of blade. This was the most popular style of sword that the elf-smith Rhunon made. **

_Then I will take it._

"Eat," Murtagh said aloud, handing her jerky, cheese and bread.

_I will worry for you when I go,_ she said, chewing on the bread.

**Do not. Focus on yourself. While you may have escaped Galbatorix, the Varden and the many allegiances you must swear will be just as treacherous.**

_I will not swear any allegiance, save for to the Riders. In your memories, I have seen how Shadeslayer was manipulated, even in that short time, and I refuse to be used as such._

**Do what you will, I cannot advise you on how to act. Remember…though I am of the enemy to them, you reflect my tutelage. Do not smear my name further than has been smeared already.**

_You know I would not._

**That is all I ask.**

Amira nosed Illera with the tip of her snout. _**Thorn and I go to hunt.**_

_I did not know dragons needed to eat so often,_ Illera held back her laughter.

_**No, we do not. But we have been sharing our meals, so it has been less food for both of us, and we need to hunt twice as often.**_

_Go on, then. Try not to return too late,_ Illera teased.

Amira gave a mental eye roll. _**As you say, little one.**_ She nosed Illera's shoulder hard once more before she and Thorn took off.

Illera turned to Murtagh. "Have you noticed—?" she began.

"Thorn and Amira's many excursions together? He did not hunt half as much before you became a Rider," Murtagh's expression was half stern, half amused.

She watched his movements, hard and sure, and then looked away.

"I'm glad for them," Illera said. "At least, though their lives have been cruel thus far…as least they are close; at least they have each other. They can be friends despite Shruikan."

Murtagh did not say anything.

**When you and Amira leave, it will only hurt Thorn more.**

_But he will have the memories. Golden days stay golden forever._

**Then why do you refuse to become—friends with me?**

_I will yearn for that which I cannot have, and I would miss you so much…I do not know if I would be strong enough to survive that._

**You would be. You underestimate yourself, Illera. And you know that it is only you that keeps Galbatorix from hurting me or Thorn.**

_We __**are**__ friends, Murtagh._

He didn't say anything else, and she blew out a breath.

"Go on, rest. I will take the first watch."

"Actually I was thinking perhaps we should spar before we rest."

She looked at him. "Fine." Already though, nervous anticipation laced through her body. Their last spar had ended with her finally winning, but she was not sure that she could repeat the feat. For one, it was hard for her to beat him since he was so much stronger than her…could she summon that inhuman strength once more?

As they blocked the edge of their blades and took their places, Illera suddenly realized how dangerous he looked. His shaggy brown hair hung around his face, framing his cool grey eyes. And his clothing…well, she was used to seeing him in a full suit of shining steel armor, but his tunic only accented his lean, muscular frame.

"Begin," he said, and she had to whip to the side and slam Kveykva against Zar'roc to parry his first, stunning stroke.

And she was on the defensive once more as his strong strokes swung this way, then that, fast as thought. She managed to swipe at his left, up to his head, but Zar'roc stopped her blade again and again.

He was too strong for her, so she let him press her, continuing to parry each stroke. But her arms were getting heavy, so she knew that she would have to act quickly.

Illera danced out of the way of Zar'roc, slamming Kveykva into his side—blocked by Zar'roc, and then thrusting her sword up to his chest. He twisted out of the way, and suddenly went on the attack, slashing left and right. Illera took a step back, before leaping high off the ground to somersault and land behind him. Murtagh had already whipped around, but she could land a blow on his shoulder before he recovered completely—but he spun, smashing Zar'roc into Kveykva and causing her to drop the sword.

He leaned forward to pick it up, but quick as thought, she rammed her body, shoulder first, into his clavicle. Zar'roc twitched, and for a second she thought he would bring it smashing down on her head but he didn't, needing to recover his balance. Illera picked up Kveykva once more, bringing it around to stop Zar'roc at her right shoulder. But her fatigue was wearing on her, and suddenly, Murtagh struck once at her side, again at her head—both of which she just barely blocked—and then landing a hard blow on her collarbone.

Instantly she dropped like a stone, feeling the bone shatter and pain splinter hotly into her body. Kveykva clattered on the ground, and Amira cried out.

_**Illera! Are you alright?**_

_No, but I will be…do not accuse Murtagh! It was my fault. I should have remembered wards…besides, we were sparring._

_**I will be there soon. We are almost done hunting. Are you sure you are well?**_

_Yes,_ Illera said. _Though your concern honors me,_ she smiled.

"Illera!" Murtagh seemed startled at the way she fell. "Are you—do not move!" he said sharply after she tried to raise her arm.

"I should have remembered wards," she said ruefully, breathing shallowly due to the pain.

He shook his head. "I should have as well. Hold," he began murmuring a phrase in the Ancient Language.

Illera held still as he passed his hand over her collarbone, allowing him to heal her though she thought she could have done it on her own.

And soon it was mended.

"Does Amira intend to shred me after this?" he asked, a small smile on his face as he helped her up.

Illera grinned. "No. It is not your fault. Anyways, it does us good to be humbled."

Murtagh bent and picked up Kveykva, handing it to her. "Your sword."

"Thank you," Illera said.

"I think then I should take first watch," he said. "I will give you some peace after that…Thorn and Amira can also join in the turns for watching."

"No, it is alright," Illera said. "Rest. I said I would take the first watch."

"As you wish," Murtagh said, going to his belongings and taking out his bedroll. "Call me when you would like to rest."

The minutes dripped past. Amira and Thorn returned after an hour or so, and soon after that Illera drew close to Murtagh.

"Murtagh," she said. "Murtagh."

"Yeah," he muttered, rolling onto his side.

"The watch," she said, and he nodded.

"I'm awake," he said, sitting up and stretching.

"Goodnight," she said softly, making her way to Amira's side and pulling out the bedroll. She rolled into the sleeping pack, and the blackness overtook her.

…

"Illera! Wake!" Murtagh yelled, and her eyes instantly flew open.

The camp was being surrounded by—

_**Urgals**_, Amira snorted, and Illera grabbed the bag of their provisions and stuffed her sleeping roll inside, stuffing them into Amira's saddlebags.

_**To me, Illera! You do not have armor, I shall not have you on the ground!**_

Illera darted upon her Dragon, furiously muttering wards to deflect anything that came at her or Amira. She threw her protection around Thorn and Murtagh as well.

_Tell Thorn that I have protected them—_Illera concentrated on finishing her magic, keenly aware of all the energy draining from her. Amira supplemented the energy with her own, giving Illera enough so that she could fight.

Amira reared, and shot a thin jet of shimmering purple fire onto the oncoming Urgals—perhaps about fifteen in all.

Murtagh was on Thorn, slashing at the beasts, and Illera flicked Kveykva out of its scabbard, lopping off an Urgal head in the same movement.

Thorn had disemboweled another one, and Amira leaped into the fray, allowing Illera to stab and slice them as much as she could from her vantage. Kveykva danced, plunging into bodies, beheading the beasts, even as Amira roared and ripped some of them apart. Thorn roasted three with a single blast from his maw, and Murtagh destroyed the rest easily.

"We might as well continue onto a new campsite," Illera said softly.

Murtagh narrowed his eyes. "Yes, but only after I look for any documents on these Urgals. They are in the service of the Empire; how dare they attack us?"

Illera shrugged her shoulders. "Be quick about it…we all need rest."

She wiped Kveykva clean on a clump of dry grass, and the dragons began to ascend.

An hour later, they were gathered around a makeshift campsite, both Riders sleepless. Murtagh was sprawled against Thorn; across from him, Illera was curled in a sleeping roll, eyes wide open and staring unseeingly.

"What's wrong?" Murtagh asked finally.

Illera shivered. "I…I—that was my first true fight," she said softly. "And though it was Urgals…"

"Like you said, it was your first skirmish," he said quietly. "It will ease."

Illera's lips pressed together. "I know—I just—" she couldn't finish the thought.

He rolled over, glancing at her from a only a few feet away. "You know that you were protecting your own. You—"

"I know. I feel justified. It just sets in my mind and I can't…who am I to kill? To take a life…Or I could have been killed; I could've died if I hadn't put up my wards quickly enough—all of us could've died—" Amira tried to talk to her, but it was hard to change how Illera felt.

But suddenly he was there, holding her, and she rested her head on his collarbone.

"You know how this feels?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I know exactly how it feels."

They stayed awake until finally Illera dropped off to sleep; he settled her against him as he lay down so she would be comfortable. Murtagh ordered the dragons to sleep, and kept watch until the sun rose.

Illera stirred, still in his arms. "Good morning," she murmured. "Oh—I'm sorry for this," she said ruefully, gesturing at their position and sitting up on the ground. "I must be heavy."

He shook his head, and shut his eyes tiredly. "It's alright, Illera. You seemed as though you needed someone there."

She nodded. "How much sleep did you get?" she asked, rising from the ground.

He shrugged. "I did not."

Her eyes slanted in shock. "Murtagh! You should've—gods! I…here, I will attend to breakfast; you only need to scramble upon Thorn and rest. Why didn't you ask me—or even Thorn or Amira—to take another watch?"

He chucked softly. "I could not sleep anyways, after the battle. Do not worry…I will rest on our flight there."

Illera sighed, and grabbed their provisions from Amira's saddlebags (her dragon hadn't wanted her to take off the saddle and extras after the surprise attack in case they needed to jet away). "Wake me next time…I feel guilty if you continue the watch and do not sleep."

Murtagh shrugged, accepting bread and jerky from her. "I do not mind…anyway, it seems that you require more sleep than I do."

Illera rolled her eyes. "Even so…"

He scrambled up onto Thorn, and watched as Illera did the same. "Come. Let us go and begin our mission."

They landed in a valley some hours later; they'd have to go on foot from there. They'd already seen the lack of activity outside the mountain.

Illera followed Murtagh, surreptitiously putting up wards in case anything happened. "What information does he want, if we can't get into Farthen Dur?"

"Mainly news of mobilization. We'll see," Murtagh said wearily.

Illera traipsed behind him, eyes wide to take in the surroundings and feet light upon the earth. She was worried, though, especially about Murtagh…he'd only had a few hours of sleep; much less than her.

"Do you see that?" Illera asked suddenly, quietly some time later.

"What?" Murtagh turned his head back to her for a second.

"I could have sworn I saw…" suddenly her eyes widened and she pulled the two of them between two close tree trunks.

_Murtagh, I swear I saw a dwarf emerge from the mountain!_

His voice came some time later. **Do you see it now?**

_No…but I have shown Amira my memory, and it was a definite being. How could they come from the mountain, though?_

**I know they have tunnels…I do not know where, though. Shall we have a look?**

_Wait,_ Illera said, straining to turn and take another look. This brought her in direct contact with Murtagh—but although her pulse raced faster, she didn't know if it was from their espionage or close contact.

She took in a silent breath, and the inhalation brought her chest brushing against his.

"I'm going to check," she breathed, and she wriggled upwards, grabbing hold of one trunk to pull herself up.

Murtagh grunted as she felt her body inch by, pressed hard against his front and he was suddenly made well aware of that night of the ball…

_Her eyes were dark and delirious with thick desire and want—one could see her fierce lust…but as he ran a hand down her back, he felt the tight knots of apprehension as well. He kissed her hard and felt her response, and he groaned._

"_You haven't done this before," he said; a flat statement, but he made a soft noise and peeled off her gown anyway._

_She nodded, reaching up to kiss the corner of his lips while unbuttoning his shirt._

"_Don't worry," he managed to say before he shrugged off the shirt and started to untie her shift. "I'll be gentle; I don't want to hurt you."_

_He couldn't stop himself from pushing her underneath him so he could run his lips down her smooth throat and she made a soft noise._

"_Murtagh," Illera whispered, body relaxing finally._

"_Yes?" he was back to kissing her lips._

"_I trust you."_

He suddenly felt too hot, and her body suddenly felt as if it were a burning heat pack against him. But he could not move, she was above him, pulling herself into one of the trees to get a better look and he could not compromise her situation.

**Illera, do you see anything?**

_No…I want to get closer though._

His eyes had widened before he realized that she was talking about proximity to the subject she was watching, not…

She dropped down silently, and bounded into the next copse.

Murtagh hadn't a choice but to follow, and they flitted closer.

Nothing.

Illera's brow was furrowed in disappointment, and they headed back to their dragons.

She was quiet, and he noticed. "Illera, what's wrong?"

There was a few moments of silence. "Back in the clearing…I could've sworn that…that there was someone there. A woman, definitely."

Murtagh shrugged. "Maybe there was. But don't fret. We only need to scout to see if there are signs of mobilization."

She nodded. "Okay." It was going to be sundown in a few hours; they had time.

Their surveillance revealed nothing more, though, so they headed back to their makeshift camp.

"Illera," Murtagh murmured. "We should head back to Uru'baen in the morning. The Varden have not mobilized, and it is too dangerous for us to remain."

She just nodded, turning her back to him to curl into her sleeping roll. She was distant once more, but he knew she was again thinking about the Urgals she'd killed.

"Illera," he called out louder, more sharply than before. "Promise me—swear to me that you will not allow deaths by your hand when in defense of your own interests cause you guilt."

"Why, my lord?" her eyes were uncharacteristically dull.

"So that you may continue on living without too many doubts," he said.

She shrugged, and shut her eyes, rendering the conversation over. "Good night, Murtagh."

In the morning, they destroyed any evidence of them being there, and they were gone.

Illera stepped lightly among the armory, glancing discreetly around before disappearing into the sword room. She stood in the corner, looking at all of the different, brilliant swords when a voice interrupted her.

"Having second thoughts on your choice?" Galbatorix.

"I don't think so," Illera replied.

"If you need to, feel free to test any other swords."

She was about to open her mouth and say that she didn't need to, when the door opened.

"My lord," another voice said, bowing deep. "There is a disturbance in the Great Hall. It appears to be between a few of the Lords."

Galbatorix scowled, and nodded. "I stand by what I said before, Illera," his eyes ran down her form appreciatively before he left.

Silently, Murtagh took the emerald green sword that he'd indicated before from the shelf, using magic to replace the empty slot with a sword that had been closer to the ceiling.

"Here," he said, huskily. "Quickly, place it in your belongings and clothes. And we must be careful. I know now that if we are discovered, Galbatorix will punish you in ways he could not for me. Are you alright?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," she answered him, and she blew out a breath.

Murtagh studied her. "There is another get together tonight. There will be dancing."

"Are you asking me to accompany you?" Illera asked, a soft lilt to her voice.

He arched an eyebrow. "You are too presumptuous," he said, and then relaxed. "Yes. I am."

She smiled. "I will see you there."

Later that night, she knew it was to be her last night snoozing with the rich and powerful in Uru'baen as a King's Rider. It would be spectacular; she would steal the show.

Amira snorted. _**If I was a human male, and I had just met you, Illera, I would drop on bended knee and ask for your hand in marriage.**_

Illera laughed, dabbing translucent smudges of rouge on her lips. _Thank you, Amira…yet why do I feel as if you say this only because I changed the color of my gown to the color of your scales?_

Amira responded smugly, _**it is a beautiful color and you know this.**_

She smiled as she put on a few golden trinkets—long golden earrings, a golden necklace and a ring.

_**Murtagh will be surprised.**_

_I am not doing this to catch Murtagh's eye,_ Illera responded tartly.

Amira gave the mental equivalent of an eye roll. _**You cannot lie to me.**_

Illera blew out a breath, and sighed. "I will be going."

In a few moments, she was inside the ballroom, swamped by Galbatorix's magic. Her own power had grown so that Galbatorix's spells felt merely exceedingly uncomfortable; like a constant scratch at the back of her mind.

A few minutes later, as she was in the middle of dancing with a nobleman, Murtagh entered the room.

She knew because of his questing mind—searching for her?—and knew because he had an aura that drew her like no other.

He headed towards her, and when the song ended, he cut in with an offering of a drink to steal her away from the nobleman.

Illera drained the champagne in two gulps so she could be free to dance with Murtagh.

"I had thought I was to accompany you to the dance," he said, as he spun her.

"I took the liberty of coming here myself," she answered, unconcerned with his glowering demeanor.

"What of Galbatorix's magic? Are you affected as you were?"

"No," she said as the dance sped up. "I am fine."

He narrowed his eyes. "How are you feeling about our upcoming mission?" he asked. "We will be ready," she said. "And you?"

He hesitated. "I would wish that we did not have to part so soon."

She glanced away from him and at the tall windows. "I know."

The dance went on, and disappointingly, though there had been many men who had seemed to approach her before her first dance, only one interrupted Murtagh to ask her to dance.

She'd accepted it—and was handed another drink—but still felt put out by the lack of male attention.

Amira snickered at this thought, but Illera was too preoccupied to investigate further.

After the dance with the Lord, she was asked by another, and she kept on dancing with him until Murtagh returned to her.

"I didn't know you liked dancing so much," Illera raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged, eyes glancing away from her. "I do not."

"You fooled me," she answered.

He shrugged once more. The hall was emptying quickly now, and the Lords who had hoped to court Illera into the night were shaking their heads and departing with other ladies. "This may be the last time I may dance with you, Illera, do not begrudge me your company."

Her smile faded off of her features quickly. "You shouldn't say it in such a way," she said softly. "I promise that I shall dance with you at the end of the war."

"Do not make promises that you may not be able to keep," he warned, and then his features softened. "But it is late, and we must depart early in the morn."

She nodded, breaking their dance to snag a glass of enchanted wine, and the two of the stepped out of the ball and towards their suites.

It was in front of their doors when they stopped and turned to each other.

"Thank you for tonight," she said, offering a shy smile.

Murtagh took a moment to look at her, then said—"Hold, come in. We can watch the stars from my balcony."

She hesitated, remembering fully what happened the last time she had entered his rooms after a ball—"Alright."

She followed him into his room, and then out onto his balcony—she hadn't know there was one, but the door leading to it was in the corner of his bedroom.

They stood outside, in the cool breeze, heads tilted back to see the bright stars.

"Are you cold?" he asked, suddenly seeing the amount of skin she had exposed.

"Yes," she said, and he held his arms out to hold her.

Illera hesitated before the alcoholic courage told her to go to him; and so she did.

They stood there, her back to his chest, simply watching the stars. Their dragons passed by overhead, coasting lazily in the wind.

"The sky is beautiful," Illera said softly.

"Yes," Murtagh said absently, squeezing her hip lightly.

She shut her eyes, deeply regretting coming into his room. It was only causing her to question their relationship—did simple peers ever enter into such an intimate stance?—and, well, she was leaving soon.

Something told her, though, to say 'to hell with it'. She would be gone anyways.

Illera finally stirred sometime later, and she broke free of his embrace as she stepped back into his quarters.

"It is late and growing colder. I should go," she said, glancing up at him.

He followed her, and stood entirely too close to her as he whispered, "But you should stay."

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head, and he made a helpless noise.

"You know why," he said, and then their lips touched and suddenly she was pushed against the wall.

She kissed him back hard, knowing that she needed to do this last thing before she left; she would never be able to forgive herself if something happened to him and she'd be left to wonder.

His head dipped over hers, hands racing up and down her body, and he suddenly picked her up to carry her over to the bed.

Before she could say anything, his mouth dominated hers once more, and she kissed him back because he seemed to want her so.

Entirely too early, though, Murtagh broke their kiss and drew away slightly.

His breathing was quick, his eyes dark as he whispered, "Tell me you don't want this, Illera, love. Tell me you don't want me," he said raggedly.

She dimly registered his words, and realized something else as her thoughts raced.

"But I do," she said, and he groaned.

"Please," she added, heart racing when it seemed like he would pull away.

Murtagh let out a hissing breath. "I can refuse you nothing," and he was kissing her, and her clothing was gone.

Afterward, they were lying in bed with each other, intoxicated with their youth and flush with emotion.

Murtagh stroked her shoulder tenderly. "You feel wonderful," he said.

"You as well," she answered, burrowing closer to his warmth.

"And now you know how I feel about you."

"Perhaps I have known for longer," she said, with a wry smile. "I have just…well, in that regard, you also know how I feel about _you_."

He nodded, a small smile breaking across his features Then the smile slid off his features quickly. "I wish we could have had more time together."

"I know," she said. "We should stay awake, for a little while longer."

He pulled the blanket atop of them. "How are you feeling?"

"Fearful. Excited. Torn," she said softly. "I don't want to leave you."

He nodded. "I know." Then—"You should rest."

"If you do so with me," she answered, watching his reaction.

He brushed his lips against her shoulder, put his arms around her, and they fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

Murtagh was already dressed when Illera woke.

"Good morning," she said, voice thick with sleep.

"Good morning," he said, kneeling beside his bed. "I've retrieved the egg."

"Really?" she asked.

He reached out to her mind, and she was bombarded with his memory.

_He was walking among the corridors at dawn, before stealing up behind the guards._

_He murmured Slytha, and caught each of them and gently set them down to the stone floor with only a small clink._

_Silently, he slipped into the Treasury, bypassing magical means of detection, and coming upon a golden chest._

_He lifted the lid, murmuring a counter-spell as he did so, and lifted out the emerald green dragon egg. The lid was closed, and he put the spells back upon it, with another one of his own creation, as he headed out of the room._

_Behind him, the guards awoke once more._

"And so you have," she said. "When do we depart?"

"As soon as you dress," he answered. "I've no wish to stay longer than is necessary."

Illera rose, putting on the clothing that he'd retrieved for her.

She could feel his eyes on her, but she reached out to Amira.

_**I could not reach you at the ball once more.**_

_Galbatorix's magic._

_**I cannot say that I like that you and Murtagh are…**_

_I know. I do not either…we are leaving each other in a few days, and it will be the worst hurt in the world to leave him…_

_**Yet, since I have known you, you are happy. I cannot begrudge you this, Illera, especially as I love you so.**_

Illera smiled. _How is your relationship with Thorn?_

_**What of it? We are friends, a mentor and student, nothing more.**_

_You have become awfully defensive._

_**I have not.**_

Murtagh followed her to her chambers, where her belongings had already been packed into Amira's saddlebags.

"Are you ready?" he asked, handing her a knapsack.  
>"The egg is within?" she asked, and he nodded.<p>

"Come, let's go," she said, and they departed on fleet feet to find their dragons.

Out in the courtyard, both Riders saddled their dragons quickly, strapping on saddlebags.

"Are you ready?" Murtagh asked.

Illera nodded, turning to her dragon to haul herself upwards.

But Murtagh put his hands on her waist, tossing her into the air and she landed lightly in the saddle.

"Thank you," she said as he leaped onto Thorn.

He only shrugged, and then they were off.

…

They stopped for the night in the desert, and Murtagh lifted water from deep in the earth into a depression in the sand for the dragons to drink.

She only watched him—while they had finally lowered the walls that had made it so hard to trust each other, they were both inexperienced in matters of the heart and it was awkward, to say the least.

Finally, the dragons drank their fill and he refilled the water skins that he carried.

"Illera," he said wearily, holding out his arms and she went to him. He pulled her onto his lap, and she shut her eyes, noticing the hard planes of his chest.

_I'll miss you,_ she said softly.

**And I you. Why do you not speak? I would hear your voice.**

_Is it safe—I mean that, will Galbatorix not see?_

"Ah," he said. "You remind me." He shifted, searching for something in his pocket, until he withdrew a small golden trinket from his pocket. It was a ring.

"Here," he said, taking her hand and putting the ring on her finger.

"It's beautiful," she said, examining the smooth band. "Did you make it?"

"Yes," he said. "That is why it is not so perfect as I would have it. A diamond is set in the center, as well. But the true value of the ring is that I have put all manner of spells I could think of on it…no one will be able to scry you while you wear it. But if it should need more power, it will take from you, and you will know because the metal will grow hot." And…" he hesitated.

She sensed his awkwardness, and diverted the conversation for him. "Why did you choose a diamond?"

He shifted again. "A diamond is harder than any other substance in the world. It can weather any storm, and it will emerge unscathed. It will last forever. And so…it symbolizes my love."

Illera was speechless. _I had never thought that Murtagh was so sentimental._

_**Neither had I. But it is a good gift, a true gift, and he has shown his love for you. **_

_I wish I had thought of something to give him._

"I had never thought you would say something like that," she smiled at him, rather shyly. "Thank you. I only wish I had thought to gift you with something that would show how much I care for you as well."

He made a small noise of dismissal. "It matters not, Illera…any way, it is only proper for a man to shower his lady with gifts, and so I have been neglecting you."

She laughed. "You have not."

Murtagh smiled, before it faded. "Tomorrow, we shall fly into the thick of the Varden. I will make sure to duel Eragon, and Thorn and I will leave…as I fight with him, you and Amira must hide yourselves from everyone. Not even I must know where you have gone, so Galbatorix cannot begin to search for you. After Thorn and I depart, then you can show yourself and give the letters to Eragon and Nasuada."

Illera nodded, sensing his pain at the thought of the two of them separating.

She got up, going to Thorn and Amira to release the saddlebags from them so they could leave to hunt.

_**You will break his heart,**_ Thorn rumbled, snaking his head around to stare her in the eye.

Illera met his fierce ruby eyes. _As he will break mine. Yet what is important is that our hearts belong to each other._

Thorn snorted. _**Is it worth it, then? **_

_Has your relationship with Amira been worth it? You know she is the only one who could understand you. And so Murtagh has brought light into my life, as I hope to have done for him._

Thorn lowered his head. _**Perhaps you speak wisely, Illera. And I cannot begrudge you because you have caused him much joy, and happiness.**_

Illera nodded, and took all of the saddlebags where Murtagh sat. She pulled the sleeping rolls out, and went back to him.

He stirred, taking it from her. "What were you speaking to Thorn about?"

She sat down next to him. "He asked me if—we—were worth it."

Murtagh nodded. "He has asked me too."

"And are we?" she asked. "Do you believe so?"

"You were the only one who could lighten my black life in Uru'baen," he said as she drew closer to him. "And so you are the only human who could mean so much to me."

She nodded, resting her head on his chest. "Gods, you will be punished, so badly, like when I first met you."

He shrugged. "It will hurt, but if you are safe, and out of his reach, I will bear it."

She nodded, and then yawned.

Murtagh noticed. "Sleep," he said. "I'll take the first watch."

She nodded, wrapping herself into the sleeping roll, and slept.

…

She woke to take her shift when Amira nudged her. As she sat up, she realized Murtagh was beside her, and seeing him sleep sent a pang through her heart.

The camp was quiet, until the birds began to chirp as the sun rose.

She set about finding things to eat, already nearly finished with her breakfast by the time Murtagh stirred.

It was a few hours later when Murtagh strapped on his armor, and belted Zar'roc around his waist. Illera pulled the dragons' saddlebags over them once more.

"Illera," he said, going to her and catching her hands.

She met his eyes, and saw in them the same deep pain that she felt. "Murtagh."

"This is good-bye," he whispered, and brushed his lips over the backs of her hands.

"Until the war has ended," she said, and then put her arms around him, clasping him tightly.

"Good-bye, Amira, good-bye, Illera, and do me proud, as a mentor and as a man. May fortune shine upon you, and may we meet again."

"Good-bye, Murtagh Morzansson, good-bye, Thorn," she said, eyes shining. "May the gods be with you. Fight hard and true, and never forget she who loves you."

He held her face gently, and kissed her one last time. And when they broke apart, Illera turned away and leaped onto Amira. Murtagh followed on Thorn, and they flew with steady wing beats to the Varden.

…

Murtagh and Thorn swooped overhead, Thorn roaring his challenge to Saphira. Amira and Illera were long gone, hidden in the mountains, and his mood was bitter.

"Eragon!" he shouted, voice magnified by magic and the mountains. "I challenge you! Eragon! Come and fight! Unless you are too afraid, and are hiding behind Arya's skirts?"

Eventually, an answering roar—Saphira—split the air, and a shining, armor-clad dragon and Rider rose through the air.

Illera watched from the mountaintop she was perched on to see the duel unfolding. It was an awesome sight; the two dragons clawing at each other, the brilliantly colored jets of flame skidding over each other's wards, and the Riders….with sword on sword, and their armor shining brightly.

She could only watch as they fought, almost evenly matched, but she could tell that Murtagh was stronger. Murtagh slammed his shining red blade into Eragon's. She saw Eragon's blade snap, and Saphira wheeled about, snapping her tail into Thorn's jaw, sending him backwards.

Thorn roared, about to give chase, but suddenly he turned back, flying in the direction of Uru'baen. Illera and Amira watched as he and Murtagh disappeared into the horizon.

Amira blew out a breath, the hot air causing Illera's hair to gust backwards and nudged her Rider softly.

_**Thorn and I had said goodbye.**_

_And have you admitted anything?_

Amira sighed. _**Perhaps you are the wise one, Illera…at any rate, you know me too well. I did not tell him in such terms as Murtagh confessed to you, but we were close, and I believe that he knew.**_

Illera nodded, leaning on her dragon for comfort. _I am glad that you and Thorn could at least come to an accord before we had to part._

_**Thorn and I never had the same sort of silly, misunderstandings that you and Murtagh had…**_

_That was mainly because there weren't any other female dragons for Thorn to copulate with._

Amira snickered. _**Perhaps. **_

_Should we go then, to Shadeslayer?_

_**Yes, now, before Saphira lands.**_

Illera slid her helmet over her head before she vaulted onto Amira's back, fighting the grief that threatened to spill out of her eyes. Amira launched herself into the air from the mountainside, winging down, and trumpeting a call.

As they landed, Illera watched Eragon scramble from upon Saphira's back. The larger dragon roared furiously, about to gust flames onto them.

Illera realized the danger, muttering a few wards just before the flames passed over them harmlessly.

"Who are you?" Shadeslayer demanded, but Illera deigned to wait until Saphira had stopped attempted to roast them. A circle of armed men and dwarves surrounded them, and she could see the elf Arya beside the other Rider.

"Could you guarantee safety for my dragon and I if I wish to speak?" she called first.

Shadeslayer hesitated; she saw him confer with the elf, and then their conversation stopped.

"Why should I guarantee you safety, when I do not know if you will strike?"

"Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal," Illera said, not as loudly, but the power in the words made it so everyone could hear. "My words are not for all to hear."

A soldier yelled, "Kill her!" and there were surrounding shouts of 'yea!" but Eragon held up his hand.

"I will honor your request," he said, and began to dismount from Saphira.

"Hold, Rider," Illera said, a trace of mockery in her tone. "We are _Shur'tugal_, and so, we shall fly."

"To where?" Eragon's eyes slanted in distrust, and she knew he was thinking of an ambush.

"There is a place, not far from here, where we may talk," Illera said calmly, forcing herself to dictate the terms of the meeting. "We can go…if you choose to," she set the challenge for him, and waited.

"And so we shall fly," he said after a time, and the two pairs launched themselves into the air and flew towards a meeting spot.

A few minutes later, they landed in a valley in the mountains, and Eragon dismounted.

"Very well. I have agreed to your terms. And now, you will answer my questions," he said.

Illera did not reply to him, and Amira whispered, _**Be careful, especially with Saphira. I cannot trust her.**_

_I will head your words,_ Illera promised before leaping off of Amira.

She almost missed Eragon's look of shock—she had become so used to her ability, she forgot that it was one of elves and not of her own race.

Illera did not remove her helmet, knowing that he could not tell her features—or gender, from that distance. But she could see him, and she marveled. He was so young; younger than she and Murtagh by perhaps as much as four years…

"How are you—Show yourself," Shadeslayer commanded, but she balked at the thought of being told what to do.

"Shadeslayer, though you may have been a Rider for longer than I, my training has been more arduous than yours," she said. "You cannot presume to match me."

He scowled. "What are you doing here?" he seemed to think an abundance of questions would get him some answers.

Illera rolled her eyes, and removed her helmet, placing it under her arm.

"A woman!" Eragon exclaimed.

"Well spotted," Illera parried dryly. "And so you, Saphira Bjartskular, may rejoice because you are not the only female dragon of your race any longer. But that is a long story. I am here because of one man, and one man only: Murtagh Morzansson."

Eragon's face darkened. "What is your connection to him?"

"All in good time," she answered. "I must first say that it is by his efforts that I have evaded becoming controlled by the dark King as he has been. When it was time, he aided me in escape…and so, I have a letter for you and for Nasuada, from him." Illera produced two letters from her pack, both sealed in wax, and gave one to Shadeslayer.

He took it, and pocketed it. "Why are you here, then?"

Illera considered. "Why do you believe I am here?" she was dimly aware of the dragons standing as still as the mountains, gazing fiercely into each others' eyes and attempting to break into the other's mind.

Shadeslayer's eyes narrowed. "It is not to wish me harm, for you could have done so, but you swore you would not harm me or Saphira."

Illera nodded. "I have escaped Uru'baen…and to bring down the King, and as it is a duty of a Rider to keep the peace, I have come to the Varden to swear fealty to the leader of the Riders. As you are the only free Rider with the Varden…I must also assume that you are the leader of the Riders, and so you are the one I will swear fealty to."

Eragon looked surprised. "You will swear fealty to me?"

"I would do it now, rather than in front of a large audience," Illera said.

Eragon indicated for her to continue.

Illera drew Kveykva—here Eragon's eyes widened in astonishment—and advanced upon the younger man, whom, to his credit, did not shrink back.

She knelt on one knee, and offered her blade to him. "I show my fealty, and my blade, to you, Eragon Shadeslayer, as the representative leader of the Riders. I pledge myself to the Riders and its cause and will work my entire life to see its continuation," she said, and repeated them in the Ancient Language.

Eragon took Kveykva for a moment, touching each of her shoulders with the flat of the blade before saying, "I accept," and handing the blade back to her.

Illera stood, sheathing Kveykva. "My name is Illera, and my story is long and oftentimes difficult, but the hardest of the journey is completed. I would that I and Amira be presented to the other leaders…when are you setting out for the elves?"

Eragon narrowed his eyes. "How do you know so much of our plans?"

She waved a hand, wanting him to drop his suspicions. "Murtagh knew much of your aims and has shared them with me…he had me leave in part because if I left and went with you to Ellesmera, I would be in an area where Galbatorix could not reach me. It would be the best form of safety."

"You say that he helped you leave. Why would he, if he is aiding Galbatorix?"

Illera snorted. "Do you believe that he is helping the King out of his own, free will? Galbatorix knows his true name…and so controls him. I was lucky, and I not want to share that fate."

Eragon considered. "Fine, then. We will fly back to the camp in order to introduce you to the other leaders."

Illera nodded. "And as my liege, now…"

"I must protect you. I know this. Was this part of the plan between you and Murtagh?"

Illera wore the barest hint of a smile. "Murtagh is not a bad man."

"As you say."

"He sacrificed his body and time to ensure that I would be able to escape. It is so much more than I would ever be able to repay him, for I am free and he is not."

When they landed outside the entrance to Farthen Dur, Nasuada and her Council were waiting, with a hundred armed men between them.

"Eragon," Nasuada called. "What has happened?"

Eragon clambered down from Saphira. "A new Rider has been found, and through fortuitous events, has escaped the king and is to join us."

Nasuada narrowed her eyes. "And will you perform the customary ritual to check his mind before he can enter Farthen Dur?"

Eragon nodded. "If she will allow me, I will check her mind."

Murmurs rose at this—there hadn't been a female Rider since…since during the height of the Rider's power.

"Who is she?" Nasuada demanded. "Eragon, explain!"

"All in good time," he said. "If you could order the men away."

The leaders impatiently motioned, and it was some time before Illera leaped down from Amira to land before the band of leaders.

"My name is Illera," she began. "Rider of Amira. I was exposed to Amira's egg when Galbatorix discovered me, and I am one of a few who can say that they lived at the Court in Uru'baen. So—after I became a Rider, Galbatorix and Murtagh trained me; though mostly the latter. I have nearly completed my training under them…and I have escaped to the Varden, determined to aid as best I can in bringing down Galbatorix."

There was a murmur at this.

Then, Arya spoke. "How is it that there is a purple egg? I was the egg courier for Saphira for many years, after the thief who was supposed to steal all the three eggs only was able to come away with one. We have believed in all this time that there were three eggs, and three eggs only."

"I cannot say as to the exact circumstances that Amira's egg was found," Illera began. "But I know that Galbatorix, after Saphira's egg was lost, went to Vroengard, the former stronghold of the Riders, and searched beneath the rubble and ruins and somehow found one more egg that was not destroyed by magic. He may have attempted to locate the lair of the wild dragons as well; this I cannot attest to, but I know that he searched Vroengard high and low and found one egg. So—this is how Amira and I came to be."

There was a silence.

"How can we know to trust her?" Nasuada said, loud enough for Illera to overhear.

Illera's jaw tightened, but she did not speak.

Eragon said, "She has already pledged herself to the Riders…and so I am her liege."

"Excellent," Nasuada said bracingly. "That means, as both I and the next king of the dwarves are your lieges, we have two Riders at our command.

But Eragon was shaking his head. "No, Nasuada, you are mistaken…When I said that I am her liege, I did not mean that Illera has pledged herself to me….She has pledged herself to the organization of the Riders, and to its future she will do much to protect it. Because I am the leader of the Riders, technically she has also pledged herself to me…but to no other does she owe her allegiance."

Nasuada and stood, silently stewing over the proceedings, before Arya—mouth tipped in amusement—stepped forward.

"This is good news," she said. "Though today the Red Rider came and displayed his strength, he cannot hope to match two Riders…It is the most fortuitous news that Illera has joined us. And so, we shall leave for Ellesmera in two days time, to make haste before Galbatorix finds the loss of his new Rider and comes straight here to destroy us. You know this, Council, Nasuada…You must make preparations for the move to Surda tonight, and move out as soon as possible…We do not know how long it will be until Galbatorix discovers Murtagh's treachery."

Illera was silent; the leaders were soon discussing things that she could neither control nor contribute to, and so, she grew bored.

Amira growled after the minutes slipped by, and suddenly loosed a gout of flame into the sky.

_**What Illera is too polite to say is that we would like to be of some use, and what you discuss neither allows her to contribute nor can she control anything. So…I, at least, would like to be excused so I may hunt.**_

Nasuada curtseyed to Amira. "Of course, you and your Rider may leave. Eragon, you should accompany them…go and hunt, Amira, and before you return so that quarters may be found for you and your Rider, make sure that Illera's mind has been searched."

Amira glanced down at the dark-skinned human with haughty ease. At this reminder, Illera withdrew Murtagh's letter to Nasuada from her pack, and whispered a few words. When she gently flicked the letter in the air, it gusted lightly into Nasuada's hands.

"A letter from the Red Rider," Illera said.

As soon as Illera had done so, Amira launched herself into the air. Saphira followed a few moments afterwards.

And Illera could only think: _Murtagh, is this truly the life you have sent me to live?_

…

Illera lay back on a patch of grass as Amira took off to go hunting. She was trying to meditate, before Eragon landed beside her.

"If you do not mind, I would examine your mind now," he said. "Simply because I do not wish for any others to see what you have in your mind…Riders can understand each other."

Illera nodded slowly.

_**Which memories do you not wish to show him? I can hide them from him.**_

_Gods—all of my private moments with Murtagh, please…he would not trust me after he saw those, and anyways, they are my concern and mine only._

"Come on then," she said, and carefully lowered her mental barriers.

It first felt strange, when she had practiced so hard to keep her mind protected as Eragon began to shuffle some things slowly.

It grew more and more uncomfortable to have Eragon digging around in her mind, until finally, it was over.

"I am sorry," Eragon said. "It is not my idea…You must submit for the dwarves to allow you into Farthen Dur."

She dismissed his thoughts. "It is alright."

"Your memories—I do not know how to respond to them."

"Maybe you can perceive all that you need to," Illera said. "Uru'baen was the center of intrigue and plots.. it was the place where Murtagh taught me many things that a Rider would need."

"Ah. How fair you in swordplay?" Eragon asked.

Illera wore another slight smile. "I have only bested Murtagh when I had summoned the extra power and finesse of anger."

Eragon nodded. "And he has beaten you all other times?"

"Yes," Illera said. "Or we have drawn."

Eragon nodded, and then said, "Murtagh took my sword after the battle of the Burning Plains. I no longer have a Rider's sword."

"Ah, " she nodded. "That is the root of the problem? I wish I could help you….but alas I cannot. I have my blade, because Galbatorix has hundreds of those that he took from Riders…alas I do not have one to give you."

"Where did you gain your belongings?" Eragon asked suddenly. "Your helmet, your sword…"

"All of my belongings were either given to me by the human Court, or by Galbatorix himself," she said. "They are either of past Riders…or were made to gain my favor."

Eragon nodded. "We will leave for Ellesmera in two days. Be ready."

"I will be."


End file.
